by Cassie Miles
“So what?”
“Nobody came into the cabin through that window. And there are no footprints on the ground outside. So nobody went out that way, either.” He paused, allowing the facts to sink in. “You understand what I’m saying? Your pal, Joey, broke the window to make it look like there were robbers.”
She turned away from him, opened the fridge and pulled out a loaf of wheat bread, mustard, a package of baloney and some cheese. Her frugal dinner explained how she’d been able to save a couple thousand dollars while working as a waitress at the Elkhorn Café.
“Here’s another thing,” Mace continued. “If there were robbers, how do you suppose they managed to come into the cabin and do all this damage without tracking in any mud? It’s been snowing and sloppy all day. But the only footprints in here are yours.”
Staring at the kitchen floor, she said, “What about the blood in Joey’s studio?”
“It’s insignificant. I’ve bled more when I cut myself shaving. And so, taking this evidence into account, I’d say your cabin is a fake crime scene.”
“And you think Joey did it?”
“From that gruesome portrait in his studio, I suspect he’s ticked off at you. Maybe you two had an argument.”
“We didn’t fight,” she insisted.
She turned back to the fixings for her sandwich, neatly spreading the mustard on bread, then adding baloney and cheese, then another squirt of mustard. Her actions were slow and deliberate as though she needed to concentrate on this nongourmet preparation.
Mace assumed that she was buying time, but he didn’t understand why. What was she hiding? Why was she protecting Joey? “Tell me more about your roommate. In addition to his painting, does he have a job?”
“He spends a lot of time in Denver. Sometimes he takes art classes. I guess that makes him a student.”
“Kind of old to still be in school.”
“Twenty-six,” she said. “The same age as I am.”
“How’d you come to be roommates?”
Carefully she lifted her sandwich. With infuriating slowness, she nibbled a dainty bite and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin.
Though she was pretending to be ladylike, her tactics were a good way to avoid questions. She was damned good at putting him off. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time Nicole had undergone a police interrogation. Maybe he should have asked Barry to check Nicole’s criminal record instead of Joey’s.
Matching her supposed calm, he opened a cabinet, took out a mug and helped himself to coffee while the stubborn silence stretched between them. This was a contest to see who could outlast the other. Mace leaned back against the door frame. He could stand here all night. Stamina was his middle name.
She darted a nervous glance in his direction. Then another. Finally she said, “I forgot your question.”
He knew she was prevaricating. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d asked about how she and Joey became roommates. “I’m on your side, Nicole. I want to help you get your money back.”
“Right. That’s your job.”
“It’s my choice,” he corrected. “I’m required to collect the evidence, file reports and make a reasonable attempt to find your missing cash.”
“Your job,” she repeated. “That’s what cops do.”
“The amount of effort I put into this investigation is my choice,” he said. “If this alleged robbery turns out to be a spat between roommates, I’m not inclined to waste much time looking into it.”
“But Joey’s missing,” she said.
“An interesting twist, but easily explained. He could be spending the night with a friend. He could have hitched a ride to Denver.”
“Or maybe he’s lying in a ditch with his skull cracked open.”
“Given the setup, I doubt that.” He sipped his coffee. “Don’t make this hard for me. Just answer my questions. How did you meet Joey Wentworth?”
“In Denver,” she said. “He mentioned his cabin, and I jumped at the chance to come here.”
Mace didn’t buy that story. “Far as I know, Elkhorn isn’t on anybody’s top-ten list of favorite destinations. People are born here. Or they end up here. Not many come to live here on purpose.”
“I needed a break. I wanted to come someplace peaceful.”
Night shifts at the Elkhorn Café weren’t anybody’s idea of a relaxing vacation. “Give me a more specific reason. When you first came to Elkhorn, were you and Joey dating?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? We’re not lovers, and we never have been.”
Mace had a hard time believing that any red-blooded male could live with a woman who looked like Nicole and not form an attachment. “Is Joey gay?”
“Not that I know of.” She exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Mace. But I can’t believe Joey took my money and messed up the cabin. It simply doesn’t make sense.”
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s come at this from another angle. Is there somebody else who might want to do you harm?”
“No,” she said too quickly. The color in her face rose quickly. Her cheeks flushed red. “I can’t think of anyone who might want to hurt me.”
There was the lie. Mace saw it clear as a thunder-head rising above the mountains. She was scared of someone in her past. “You can tell me,” he said.
“Nothing to tell.”
The wall phone in the kitchen rang, and her self-control shattered. She dropped her sandwich on the mud-tracked linoleum floor. “Should I answer?”
He nodded. “It’s your house.”
She grabbed the phone off the hook, glad for the interruption. Mace’s questions were coming far too close to the truth.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?”
“Nicole, it’s me.”
Joey! “Are you all right? Where are you?”
“Kidnapped.” His voice was weak. It sounded as if he’d been crying. “I’ve been kidnapped.”
She was shocked. Never in a million years would she have suspected kidnapping. “Who did this?”
“They want $800,000. You’ve got to call my uncle Blake in Denver. Don’t screw this up, Nicole. Please.”
“Are you okay?” She remembered the blood on the floor in his studio. “Did they hurt you?”
“It’s not too bad.”
But she could hear his pain. She imagined his fragile wrists bound together. He wasn’t strong enough to stand much abuse. Angrily she said, “Joey, you tell them that they won’t get a penny if you’re injured.”
“I’m not in a position to make demands. Nicole, you’re the only one I trust. Do this for me. Do exactly what they say. They’re watching you.”
A shudder trickled through her. “Are they near the cabin?”
“Eight hundred thousand. Unmarked bills.” he said. “Call Uncle Blake and tell him to bring the money to Elkhorn.”
The phone went dead.
Waves of emotion crashed over her. Flustered. Frightened. Furious. This was crazy! Though she hadn’t believed the sheriff’s conclusion that Joey had staged this robbery, that explanation would have been so much better.
When Mace took the telephone from her unresisting fingers, she said, “Joey has been kidnapped.”
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
“They hurt him.” She despised the brutality. Rage boiled up inside her. “How could they? Joey’s just a kid. He’s—”
“The same age as you are,” Mace said. “What are the demands?”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars. I’m supposed to call his uncle in Denver and tell him to bring the money here.”
“What else?”
“They’re watching me.” Disconcerted, she stared at the kitchen window. Were they watching now? Hiding in the trees beyond the lights of the cabin? She imagined the eyes of faceless strangers, probing her life and her secrets.
“They must still be in the area,” Mace said. “Did Joey give any indication of where they’d taken him
?”
“No.”
“I want you to write down every word of your conversation. Every impression. Every sound.”
He took a cell phone from his inner pocket and walked into the front room to make his call. From his professional tone, she knew that he was starting the law enforcement gears into motion, summoning his deputies. And the FBI? The Feds were supposed to be called on a kidnapping, weren’t they?
In a federal investigation, her real identity would surely be brought to light. All of her known associates and acquaintances would be questioned—including Derek.
Though she took solace in the realization that Derek had nothing to do with the vandalism at the cabin, her relief was short-lived. As soon as he knew she was in Elkhorn, he would come here. He’d force her to come back to him.
She had to escape before it was too late. She’d make the phone call to Joey’s uncle, and leave town before the Feds arrived.
She tugged at Mace’s sleeve. “My car,” she said. “Can somebody put gas in my car and bring it back here?”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough,” Mace said. He was still on the phone, issuing orders.
“Please,” she said. “I need my car.”
Mace completed his call and disconnected. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“Why not? Am I under arrest?”
She saw suspicion in his dark brown eyes. All of a sudden, he looked like a cop. Cold and hard. And accusing. He asked, “Is there a reason I should arrest you?”
“Of course not. I have nothing to do with Joey’s kidnapping.”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars.” He gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money. I’m thinking a little taste of that cash might belong to you.”
She almost laughed out loud. “No amount of money is worth…”
“Worth what, Nicole?”
Exposure. She couldn’t stand to be seen in the glaring light of an investigation. Her life depended on remaining hidden. “I’m not a kidnapper.”
“Tell me who you are.”
“Nobody. I’m a waitress at the Elkhorn Café.”
Her survival instincts took over, and she pushed her fears aside, hiding them behind a thick stone wall. Deep inside she was a frightened, abused child. Her inner self cowered as she waited for the blows to fall.
Outwardly she presented bravado. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions. I want a lawyer.”
He held out his cell phone. “Call one.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to provide a lawyer for me?”
The hint of a smile touched his lips. “That’s how it works in the city.”
“Are you telling me that it’s different in Elkhorn? That you’ve got some kind of special frontier code of justice?”
“If you want to try calling the county D.A. in the middle of the night, go right ahead. But you’re not under arrest,” he said.
“Then I can leave,” she concluded.
“Sure you can,” Mace said. “But the kidnappers are going to call back. And they’ll want to talk to you. Even if Joey isn’t your boyfriend, do you want to bail out on him?”
She heard a sound out front. Mace’s deputies were already arriving. A kidnapping in Elkhorn would be a very big deal. And she was stuck in the middle of it. Trapped. If she fled, Joey might be hurt. She wouldn’t abandon him, couldn’t be that cruel. “You’re right, Mace. I have to help Joey. He trusts me.”
Mace nodded. “I’d appreciate if you stay in the kitchen while I check in with my deputies out front.”
“What if the phone rings?”
“Don’t touch the phone until we’ve had a chance to trace Joey’s call.”
When Mace strode from the kitchen, all the energy went with him. She sagged against the counter. The immediate danger wasn’t aimed in her direction. This time it was about Joey. Though he could be the most annoying person on earth, he needed her. And she owed him. The first time they’d met was in Denver. At a cemetery.
She’d gone there to place flowers on the grave of her husband’s elderly housekeeper, Marlene, who had died of a heart attack. Marlene was a kind woman, and Nicole mourned her passing.
Because her father had died when she was seven and her mother followed when she was fifteen, Nicole took the rituals of mourning very seriously. She placed a bouquet of flowers against the gravestone and patted the fresh sod. “Rest easy, Marlene.”
Joey came up behind her. “Your mother?”
“A friend,” Nicole said.
She stood and faced him. It was strange for a person to strike up a conversation in a cemetery, and Joey’s appearance fitted the role of a very odd duck. He stood only a few inches taller than Nicole, and he was skinny as a wraith with a disheveled mop of dark hair and pale, piercing blue eyes. Crazy eyes. A tight, paint-stained sweater stretched across his scrawny chest, and his plaid trousers looked like something Charlie Chaplin might have worn.
He pointed at a mausoleum on the other side of the winding cemetery road. “I was here visiting my parents. Both dead. Plane crash outside Aspen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Six years ago,” he said, scuffing his toe on the new sod of Marlene’s grave. “I’m still mad at them.”
“Why?”
“They screwed around with my inheritance. Didn’t think I was responsible enough to handle all that money. It’s in a trust fund, and I can’t touch the principal until I’m thirty. All I’ve got is a monthly stipend and a lousy cabin in Elkhorn.”
“Where’s that?” she asked.
“The middle of nowhere. It’s a great little place if you want to hide out from the rest of the world.”
Which was exactly what she wanted. Nicole had stayed in touch with Joey. They’d met for coffee a couple of times. Four months later, when she fled from Derek, she joined her strange new friend in Elkhorn.
Now it was time for her to return the favor. Joey needed her help, and she wouldn’t let him down.
Chapter Three
Outside the Wentworth cabin, Mace approached the two deputies—Philips and Greenleaf—who responded to his call for backup. They stood side by side in the headlights of their vehicle, and they were itching for action.
After Mace outlined the situation, Deputy Hank Philips, a skinny kid with shaggy brown hair too long for regulations, could barely contain his excitement. “Damn, Mace. A real kidnapping?”
“It appears so.”
The other deputy, Mike Greenleaf, was part Ute, like Mace. He considered himself to be a ladies’ man. Nodding toward the cabin, he asked, “Should I look after Nicole?”
“Heck, no,” Philips said. “We ought to be collecting evidence. How much money do the kidnappers want?”
“Eight hundred thousand,” Mace said.
The two young deputies exchanged glances and poked each other in the ribs. Though Mace knew they were both good men who could be counted on to obey orders and do their jobs, Philips and Greenleaf were basically country boys with more good intentions than experience in crime solving. “Calm down,” Mace said.
“Easy for you to say,” Philips responded. “You probably handled a million kidnappings when you were a big-city homicide detective in Denver.”
“Not hardly.”
“Where do we start?” Philips asked. “I’ve got a fingerprint kit in the trunk.”
Further contamination of the crime scene would be unwise. “I want you to stay out here,” Mace said. “Keep your eyes open. The kidnappers might still be in the area.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When Barry gets here, send him inside.”
Philips’s head bobbed so hard it looked like it might detach from his spindly neck. “You got it, Mace. You’re the boss.”
The boss? Mace pivoted and stalked back toward the cabin. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to be the man in charge. He’d seriously misjudged this crime scene. His handling of evidence was as clumsy as a rookie on his first case. He felt like a fool
and had no one to blame but himself.
Damn it! He needed to get a grip. Mace paused in the night. The wet snow no longer sputtered. A strong wind had swept down from the mountains and wiped the clouds from the sky, where a waning moon hovered at the far edge of midnight.
In moonlight, truth was distorted. Nighttime was the purview of the trickster.
As a boy, Mace often visited the Ute reservation at the south edge of Sterling County and listened as his grandfather, Tata Charlie, told the story of Jackrabbit, who disguised his ears as two feathers and gambled with unwary braves, winning easily until he stood too close to the campfire. In the firelight, everyone could see he was only a rabbit. Trapped in a sack, Jackrabbit was eaten for dinner.
The wise man waits with patience until the clever trickster makes a mistake and gets caught. Mace needed to be wise. And patient. Remembering the lessons of Tata Charlie, he resolved to forget his injured pride and seek only the truth.
In the cabin’s kitchen, he found Nicole leaning against the counter, nibbling around the edges of another sandwich. She shouldn’t be here, wandering around and touching things. Nicole was, at the very least, a witness. At the very worst, a suspect.
“What happens next?” she asked.
“I call the FBI field office in Denver. This becomes their case. Kidnapping means they’re in charge.”
“You don’t look real happy about it,” she said.
He frowned. “Why would I be?”
“If the FBI takes over, the kidnapping isn’t your problem anymore.”
“Everything that happens in this county is my problem.”
Her delicate eyebrows arched. “Well, well, Mace. That’s a highly developed sense of responsibility you’ve got there.”
“That’s the way I am.” And he wasn’t about to apologize. Not to her. Not to anyone.
“Have you always been so territorial?”
Her teasing grated on his nerves. “I thought you cared about solving this crime.”
“I do,” she said.
But she still acted the part of the trickster, deflecting direct questions. He needed to look beyond her attitude in order to see the truth. “You don’t much like cops.”
