by B. J Daniels
“I should say. So you really are a private investigator?”
“That’s what my license says.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why do I get the feeling there is more to it?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “I won’t steal your silverware, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I wasn’t. Anyway, it’s cheap flatware.”
She sobered. “I’ve missed you, Beau. Charlie and I both have. But I honestly do have a package coming here, and it’s important or I wouldn’t have done it without checking with you first.”
“Then we’ll talk later,” he said and left. It made him nervous, not knowing what was going to be required of him over the next few days or possibly longer—and having Leah here was a complication.
Turning his thoughts again to DJ Justice, he realized he was excited to see the grown-up DJ. He’d thought about her over the years and had hoped her life had turned out all right. But if she was in trouble and needed his help, then there was no way of knowing what her life had been like the past thirty years. He hated to think what kind of trouble she had gotten into that required his help.
Since her father was calling in a promise... Beau was betting it was the dangerous kind.
* * *
ANDREI LOOKED AT the coin in his hand for a long moment. His hand shook a little as he tossed the coin and watched it spin before he snatched it from the air and slapped it down on his thick wrist.
He hesitated, mentally arguing with himself. He had a bad feeling this time. But the money was good, and he’d always gone by the flip of a coin.
Superstition dictated that he went through the same steps each time. Otherwise...
He knew too well the otherwise as he slowly lifted his palm to expose the coin. Heads, he went ahead with this hit. Tails...
Heads. A strange sense of both worry and disappointment filled him. But the coin toss was sacred to him, so he assured himself he should proceed as he pocketed the coin.
Stepping to the table, he picked up the information he’d been given on the woman he was to kill.
He noticed that a prison snitch had provided her whereabouts. He snorted, shaking his head and trying to ignore that little voice in his head that was telling him this one was a mistake. But he’d worked with the man who’d hired him before, so he pushed aside his doubts and picked up the photo of Dee Anna Justice, or DJ as she was apparently called.
Pretty. He wondered idly what she had done to warrant her death—but didn’t let himself stay on that thought long. It had never mattered. It especially couldn’t matter this time—his last time.
Maybe that was what had him on edge. He’d decided that this one would be it. With the money added to what he’d saved from the other hits, he could retire at forty-five. That had always been his goal. Another reason he’d taken this job. It would be over quickly. By his birthday he would be home free. He saw that as a sign, since this would be his last job.
Encouraged, he took the data over to the fireplace and lit it with a match. He would already be in Montana, waiting for a sign, by the time Dee Anna Justice arrived.
* * *
DJ LEANED BACK into the first-class seat, wishing she could sleep on the airplane. Her mind had been reeling since finding the doll and the photograph. But now, to discover after all these years that she had family, a cousin...
She’d been shocked and wary when she’d gotten the message on her voice mail. “Hi, my name’s Dana Cardwell Savage. I’m your cousin. I live in Montana, where your father was born. I’d really love to talk to you. In fact, I want to invite you to the Cardwell Ranch here at Big Sky for the holidays.”
Instantly she’d known this call had been her father’s doing. But how had he gotten her cell phone number? She mentally smacked herself on the forehead as she recalled the guard at the prison searching her purse. The only thing he’d taken was her cell phone, saying she could pick it up on the way out. She should have known her father had friends in prison.
She’d thought about ignoring the message. What if this was just some made-up relative? She wouldn’t have put it past her father.
But the voice had sounded...sincere. If this Dana Cardwell Savage really was her cousin...would she be able to fill in the gaps about her father’s family? What about her mother’s family? Wasn’t there a chance she might know something about the doll and photograph?
She’d always had the feeling there was some secret her father had been keeping from her. If Dana Savage had the answer...
After doing some checking, first to verify that Walter William Justice had been born in Montana near Big Sky and then to see if there really was a Cardwell Ranch and a Dana Cardwell Savage, DJ had finally called her back.
A few minutes on the phone and she’d agreed to fly out. “I can’t stay for the holidays, but thank you for asking. I would like to meet you, though. I have to ask. What makes you so sure we’re cousins?”
Dana explained about discovering an uncle she hadn’t known existed until she’d found some old letters from him to her grandparents on her mother’s side. “There’d been a falling-out. I hate to say this, but they’d disowned him. That’s why I’d never heard of your father until a few years ago, when I found the letters.”
His family had disowned him? Was it that simple, why she’d never known about them? “Do you still have those letters?”
“I do.”
She had felt her heart soar. Something of substance she could use to find out the truth. She wanted answers so badly. “I’ve never known anything about my father’s family—or my mother’s, for that matter, so I’d love to learn more.”
“Family is so important. I’m delighted that your father called. I’d heard he had died. I’m so glad that wasn’t true.”
Little involving her father was the truth, DJ thought. But if his family had disowned him, then maybe that explained why he’d kept them from her. She had a cousin. How many more relatives did she have that he hadn’t told her about?
She tried to relax. Her cousin was picking her up at the airport and taking her to the family ranch where her father had been born. These people were his family, her family, people she’d never known had existed until recently. She wanted to pinch herself.
Pulling her purse from under the seat in front of her, she peered in at the rag doll. If only it could talk. Still, looking into its sweet face made her smile in spite of herself. It wasn’t hers, but it was so much like hers...
She thought of Trixie and remembered leaving a motel room in the middle of the night and not realizing until later that the doll wasn’t with her.
“You must have dropped her,” her father had said as they sped out of town.
“We have to go back,” she’d cried. “We can’t leave her.”
He’d looked over at her. “We can’t, sweetie. If I go back there... We can’t. I’ll get you another doll.”
She hadn’t wanted another doll and had cried herself to sleep night after night until she had no more tears.
“It was just a stupid doll,” her father had finally snapped.
“It was all I ever had that was mine.”
Now, as she looked at the doll resting in her shoulder bag, she wondered where it had been. Had another girl had this doll as she suspected? But how would that girl know about DJ and Trixie? Trixie was lost, while this doll had been well cared for all these years. Why part with it now?
Her head ached with all the questions and a nagging sense of dread that she wasn’t going to like what she found out.
It made no sense that people had given her this doll and the photograph unless they wanted her to find out the truth. But the way they’d left it, breaking into her apartment
...
She had tucked the photo into a side pocket of her purse and now withdrew it to study the two women, the one man and the baby in the shot. The man and women were looking at the camera, standing next to a stroller. There was nothing in the background other than an unfamiliar stone wall to give her any idea of where it had been shot—or when.
With a start, she saw something in the photo that she hadn’t noticed before. She’d always looked at the people in the photo, especially the woman holding the baby.
But now she saw something in the stroller that made her heart pound. A doll. The doll she now had tucked in her purse. Her father hadn’t lied. She wasn’t this baby, because it wasn’t her doll in the stroller. But who was the baby, if not her?
Chapter Four
It had snowed last night, dumping another six inches. Fortunately Highway 191 through the Gallatin Canyon had already been plowed by the time Beau dug himself out and drove to his office on the second floor of an old brick building in downtown Bozeman.
“Good morning, boss,” Marge said from behind her desk as he came in. Pushing sixty, solid as a brick wall and just as stout, Marge Cooke was as much a part of Tanner Investigations as the furniture.
“I’m on my way to the airport soon,” he said, taking the mail and messages she handed him. “I’ll probably be out of contact for a few days,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for his office. He heard her get up and follow him.
As he sat down behind his desk, he looked up to find her framed in the doorway. She lifted one dark penciled-in eyebrow and asked, “Since you never take any time off and I know you aren’t busy decorating for Christmas, I’ll assume you’re working. You want me to start a client file?”
“No, this is...personal.”
Just when he thought her eyebrow couldn’t shoot any higher, it arched toward the ceiling.
“It’s not personal like that,” he said, giving her a shake of his head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He laughed. “I’ll be checking in, but I know you can handle things until I get back.”
“Whatever you say, boss. Far be it from me to suggest that you haven’t been on a date since a Bush was in office.”
“Clearly you forgot about that brunette a few months ago.”
“That wasn’t a date,” she said as she turned to leave. “And she made such an impression that you don’t even remember her name.”
He sat for a moment, trying to remember the brunette’s name. Sandy? Susie? Sherry? Not that it mattered, he told himself as he sorted through his mail and messages. He wouldn’t be seeing her again.
There wasn’t anything in the mail or messages that couldn’t keep.
Taking out the letter and the article Walter Justice had sent him, he read them again, then flattened out the article, wondering why it had been included until he saw the travel writer’s byline: DJ Price.
So was he to assume that DJ Justice’s pseudonym was Price? He typed DJ Price into his computer’s search engine. More articles came up, but no photo of the author. From the dates on the articles it would appear she was still employed as a freelance writer for a variety of publications. If DJ Price was DJ Justice.
He returned the article and letter to the envelope, folded them into his pocket and shut off his computer. As he walked out of his office past Marge’s desk, she said, “Shelly,” without looking up as he passed. “Wouldn’t want you straining your brain trying to remember the woman’s name all the way to the airport.”
Beau chuckled to himself as he made the drive out into the valley. He couldn’t help feeling anxious, since he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Nor did he know what to expect when it came to DJ Justice.
At the airport, he waited on the ground floor by the baggage claim area. There were a half-dozen people standing around holding signs. Dana Savage was one of them. The sign she held up read, CARDWELL RANCH. DJ.
He hung back as the arrivals began coming down from upstairs. On the drive here, he’d told himself there was no way he would be able to recognize DJ. She’d just been a kid of five all those years ago. He’d been a skinny but worn ten.
But the moment he laid eyes on the dark-haired woman at the top of the escalator, he recognized her. Dee Anna Justice. That brown-eyed girl had grown into a striking woman. Her hair was long, pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Burnished strands had come loose and hung around her temples.
Silver flashed at her ears and her wrists and throat. She was wearing jeans, winter leather boots that came up to her knees and a teal blue sweater. She had a leather coat draped over one arm, and there was a carry-on in her hand.
She looked up in his direction as if sensing him staring at her. He quickly looked away. This was not what he expected. DJ didn’t look like a woman on the run. She looked like a woman completely in control of the world around her.
So what was he doing here?
* * *
DJ HAD STILL been upset as the flight attendant announced they would be landing soon. She’d stuffed her purse back under the seat. Out the window, she’d seen nothing but white. Snow blanketed everything. She’d realized with a start that she’d never felt snow. Or had she?
Now she surveyed the small crowd of people waiting on the level below as she rode the escalator down. She knew she was being watched, could feel an intense stare. But when she looked in the direction it came from, she was surprised to see a cowboy.
He stood leaning against the stone wall next to the baggage claim area. He was dressed in jeans, boots and a red-and-black-plaid wool jacket. His dark Stetson was pulled low, his blond hair curling at the neck of his jacket.
As he tilted his head back, she saw the pale blue familiar eyes and felt a shock before he quickly looked away. There had been a moment of...recognition. Or had she just imagined that she knew him? She tried to get a better look at him. Why had she thought she recognized him?
She had no idea.
He was no longer paying any attention to her. She studied his profile. It was strong, very masculine. He held himself in a way that told her he was his own man. He was no urban cowboy. He was the real thing.
She scoffed at the idea that she knew him. She would have remembered a man like that. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off him and was startled when she reached the end of the escalator.
Turning toward the exit, she spotted a woman about her own age holding a sign that said CARDWELL RANCH on it, and in smaller letters, DJ.
The moment her cousin saw her, she beamed with a huge smile. DJ was surprised how that smile affected her. Tears burned her eyes as she was suddenly filled with emotion. She had the crazy feeling that she’d finally come home. Which was ridiculous, since she’d never had a real home life and, as far as she knew, had never been to Montana.
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as she wound her way through the small crowd to the young woman. “Dana?”
“DJ?”
At her nod, Dana gave her a quick hug. “Welcome to Montana.” She stepped back to stare at DJ. “You don’t look anything like the last Dee Anna Justice.”
DJ heard relief in her cousin’s voice.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Dana said, then must have noticed that DJ didn’t know what she was talking about. “Your father did tell you about your former roommate pretending to be you.”
“No, I guess he failed to mention that.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge... I’m just glad you’re here and I finally get to meet you.”
“Me, too,” DJ said, feeling that well of emotion again.
“We’ll get your luggage—”
“This is all I have.” Traveling light wasn’t the only habit she’d picked up from her father. She had stopped by the bank before
she’d left San Diego. She took cash from her safe-deposit box, just in case she might have reason not to use her credit card. But that would mean that she was on the run and needed to hide.
Dana glanced at the overnight bag. “That’s it? Not to worry. We have anything you might need. Ready to see the ranch?”
She was. “I’m looking forward to it.” Again she felt someone watching her and quickly scanned the area. It was an old habit from the years when her father used her as a decoy or a lookout.
“Always watch for anyone who seems a little too interested in you—or the ones who are trying hard not to pay you any mind,” he used to say.
She spotted the cowboy. He had moved from his spot against the wall and now stood as if waiting for his baggage to arrive. Except he hadn’t been on the flight.
“Do you need anything else before we head out?” Dana asked, drawing her attention again.
“No, I’m good,” DJ said and followed Dana toward the exit. She didn’t have to look back to know that the cowboy was watching her. But he wasn’t the only one.
* * *
BEAU WATCHED DJ LEAVE, curious if anyone else was watching her. Through the large window, he could see Dana’s SUV parked outside. DJ was standing next to it, the two seeming to hit it off.
No one seemed to pay her any attention that he could tell. A few people were by the window, several taking photographs. In the distance, the mountains that surrounded the valley were snowcapped against a robin’s-egg-blue sky.
He watched DJ climb into the SUV. As it pulled away, there was the clank of the baggage carousel. The people who’d been standing at the window all turned, pocketing their phones. One man took a moment to send a text before moving to the baggage claim area. Everyone looked suspicious, and no one did.
Beau realized he was flying blind. He had to know why Walter Justice had hired him. He had to know what kind of trouble DJ was in.
Pulling out his phone, he stepped outside into the cold December afternoon. The air smelled of snow. Even with the winter sun shining against the stone wall of the airport, it was still chilly outside.
