Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  *****

  The next evening, Holt and Maddy pored for the umpteenth time over the four dozen images parading across her laptop screen.

  “I hope you had fun with those last shots at the bottom of the landslide,” he grumbled. “Nothing to see in those but rocks.” He was being unnecessarily grumpy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Maddy’s presence, fresh-scrubbed with wet hair sleek and golden as honey, disconcerted him. Even the weather conspired against him, flinging curtains of rain across the valley all day long.

  Add to that his frustration over finding so little evidence. Nothing he could see in the pictures. In the last week, they’d visited nearly every ranch in the valley, talked to every foreman and owner and found nothing. No motive. No hint of lying. Nada. Only rumors of Rob’s jealousy and temper but nothing concrete.

  And a niggling suspicion that landslide didn’t start by itself. He’d found no tire tracks up on the roadside, but the ground might’ve been too hard to show a trace. Hell.

  “Rocks, yes. Maybe more,” Maddy said, a noncommittal expression on her face. “Let’s label them and decide which to enlarge and print. Then we’ll begin to see something.”

  “If anything’s there to see.” He was grumping again. He shrugged. “Murphy at the Ponderosa Photo Lab in Fort Adams is a friend of mine. He said he’d give your photos priority and do whatever you need with them.”

  A short time later they’d selected a dozen images.

  “I could take the flash drive to the lab tomorrow. Espie’ll be here,” she suggested.

  He ought to agree. She’d be far enough away so maybe he wouldn’t itch to run his finger across the smooth slope of her cheek or kiss the vulnerable hollow of her collarbone.

  Damn. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. He’d have the hots for any woman under these circumstances. Maybe. Eight years ago, when he’d returned home to see the girl he’d thought of as a bratty kid marry his brother, her fresh beauty and subtle sensuality had jolted him with heat that had him sweating.

  His attraction to her and their devastating kiss had shamed him, but that was mild compared to this craving for the woman she was now. Her boundless enthusiasm and energy fascinated him. Why would she want him, a stolid drudge? A grouchy, stolid drudge.

  He left the table and fished a beer out of the fridge. “In the morning after the animals are fed, I’m heading over to the Circle-S. If you send the photos to the lab by email, you can go there with me if you want to.” Hell, it was once her granddaddy’s ranch. He gulped a long swig of the frosty liquid.

  Maddy’s eyes glowed amethyst with pleasure. “Oh, I’d love to see it in operation now they have guests.”

  “Trail rides and trout fishing and campfires for tenderfeet aren’t my way of ranching, but I reckon they help pay the bills. They do run a hundred or so head of cattle too.”

  She lowered her gaze to the photographs on the screen. “Is there any reason to suspect anyone on the Circle-S?”

  “Luke Rafferty may be a deputy sheriff, but he works part time on his family’s spread. He acted mighty odd when I was at the sheriff’s office last week.” He described the face-off between Rafferty and Chris Hawke. “Afterward, Chris clammed up. Wouldn’t say a word about why they pawed the ground like a couple of bulls.”

  An unaccountably relieved expression on her face, Maddy laughed, a melodic sound that heated his blood. “I know Luke, and I have one thought. Cherchez la femme.”

  “A woman. You think so?”

  “We’ll see what we can find out tomorrow.” Standing, she yawned and stretched. The movement pulled the soft cotton of her tee across the swell of her breasts.

  Holt downed another slug of beer.

  *****

  During the night a front swept the rains away, leaving behind puddles to mirror the radiant blue sky.

  At mid-morning Holt tore himself away from ranch work to ride to the Circle-S. He wanted to just get there and talk to the Raffertys and their hands, but no, Maddy had to make it a damned outing like they used to when they were kids. Innocent kids.

  By the time he joined her in the barn, she’d already saddled both horses—Bandito, his paint gelding, and Chica, the buckskin mare she’d co-opted. If she had a picnic in her saddlebags, it wouldn’t surprise him.

  As they crested the first Ponderosa pine-dotted hill and meandered toward the bank of Ghost Creek, he hung back to study Maddy. She wore Bonnie’s sheepskin jacket and a flat-crowned white hat of her own.

  He chuckled at the excitement in her every movement. In the high color on her fine cheekbones. In her restless gestures. In the way she could barely sit still in her saddle. Her manner put Holt in mind of a bird ready to take flight.

  Not too far off the mark.

  With customary tolerance, the gentle buckskin walked at an even pace, but her tulip-shaped ears angled upright and inward with curiosity.

  Maddy cocked the hat back on her head for a better view of the scenery. With the reins looped over one hand, she made a frame of her gloved fingers and peered intently at a stand of budding aspens, their trunks gleaming white in the sun. She withdrew her camera from a saddlebag and clicked happily away.

  She turned around to the south and stood in the stirrups. Her enthusiasm made her complexion appear even more luminous. “Just look at that, Holt. It’s so clear today you can see all the way to Pikes Peak. It’s framed perfectly above the tree line. The angles and shadows are so dramatic. This high meadow is such a magical place.” Click.

  Though he’d seen the panorama more times than he could count, he obediently followed her gaze. The bare, rocky crest of the Peak stood head above the fir-covered hills before them. He couldn’t help grinning—and agreeing with her. It was a special place. Now if he could only afford to keep it his.

  “Do you look at everything like it’s a photographic subject?” He let the sociable Bandito edge closer to Chica as they continued on their way.

  Maddy lifted one shoulder carelessly. She aimed her camera at the creek, splashing along with spring run-off. Click, click. “It’s second nature. Once I look at these on my laptop, I’d like to be able to print some out. That could get expensive.” She stowed the Nikon.

  “I can’t pay you for taking care of Bobby, but I’d lend you money for some prints.”

  “No way. You’re feeding and clothing me. I can wait until my check comes. I gave my agent your mailing address.”

  “It wouldn’t be charity. I’d like pictures of Bobby.”

  A wide smile was his reward. “That’s different. A gig. You’ve got a deal.”

  He didn’t want her gratitude. Besides, it irritated him how much she intrigued him. “When did you take up photography? I don’t remember seeing you with a camera when we were kids.”

  “You were away at college. In high school, the art teacher put the bug in me. Back then it was film photography. Then in college, I majored in art.” Her grin flickered to a sober expression. “Of course, I never did finish college.”

  Following her and Rob’s sophomore year and the aborted wedding, she’d jetted away to greener pastures. “You always raved about these peaks, their shades of green, their shadows, like they were paintings.” Or photographs. She was a natural.

  Her musical laugh triggered a reaction that made straddling a horse damned uncomfortable.

  “I have a good sense of composition and color, even drama I’m told, but I can’t draw or paint worth a lick. That’s why the art teacher handed me a camera.”

  “I saw drama in the article on the Sudanese orphans. And the emotion.”

  “Too much emotion. It was a very tough assignment.” She lowered her hat brim as if to block out the memories. “I wish I could have done more for them than take their pictures. I’ve told you about Easter Island and the Andes. Those were the fun assignments. But mostly I shoot disasters, wars, and refugees. I always feel so helpless in the face of such tragedies.”

  “Where do you see your career heading next?�
�� Dammit, he ought to ask, or care. A knot tightened his jaw. By the time Maddy left he’d need dental work.

  “This next assignment in June is a calendar.” Anticipation glowed in her oval face. “I’m supposed to photograph Haitian children for an international charity.”

  “A charity, huh? Sounds like you can help people after all.”

  Her smile widened, sending sparklers through his blood. “How perceptive of you, Holt. If the pictures help the people I photograph, that keeps me going when I’m worn to the bone from too much travel and too many starving babies.”

  “And you’ve wound up here taking care of a baby.”

  “Bobby’s a pleasure.” Her smile was genuine.

  Maddy’s life wasn’t frivolous jet-setting. It had substance and noble purpose. But her career still meant world travel. He’d likely never see her again. She was only a temporary solution to his problems. And a temptation he didn’t need. He kicked the gelding into a trot.

  Maddy followed suit, guiding her mare close behind him.

  Weaving among clumps of aspens and smatterings of pines, they chased the creek’s course. Then they crossed the second of the three hills and entered a long valley. Aspens rimmed the creek banks and the other verge, but stubbly greening grass was the only other cover. The sun warmed the morning so both wore their jackets open to the fresh mountain air.

  “An old dirt track follows the base of the foothills.” Holt pointed west. “Staying with the creek the entire distance will take too long. At the end of the valley, we’ll meet the track where it swings toward the Circle-S. We can follow it the rest of the way.”

  “Okay. Let’s take a break and water the horses.” Maddy headed for a clearing by the rushing stream.

  They dismounted and led the animals closer to the creek bank. The clear water careened over its rocky bed.

  She stretched and opened her arms to the scenery. The blue T-shirt lifted enough to give him a glimpse of her smooth, pale stomach.

  Tempted to slide his palm over that creamy skin, he forced himself to turn aside to oversee the animals drinking the icy water. “After the branding, I’ll move the herd here for the summer. Better feed where it’s not such scrubland. Plenty of water.”

  “Up there, isn’t that Ghost Mountain?” she said. “And the old silver mine?”

  “Yup.” He didn’t have to look to know she was right. To the northwest, a jagged, treeless ridge heaved itself above the surrounding pine-spiked hills. Buried in one of Ghost Mountain’s convolutions was the played-out silver mine they had invaded as kids. It had sat dormant for a hundred years.

  “The stuff of legends, and a damned dangerous hole in the ground. I keep meaning to board the place up to prevent accidents, but I never get to it.”

  “Ranching is non-stop work.”

  She sounded so damned cheerful about it that he turned around to see if she was laughing at him. But she was again snapping a photo, this time of the mysterious mountain.

  Grinning, she aimed her lens at him. “So, Rancher Donovan, turnabout is fair play. What are your future plans? What will you do with the Valley-D?”

  Chapter 12

  His jaw tightened at the question. “First job is to pay off that damn equity loan. If the herd does well this year and cattle prices are up, I can put a big dent in it. I should’ve helped Rob out more. It’ll be awhile before I can build the place back up.” He led the gelding away from the creek and ground tied him beneath a tall aspen at the clearing’s edge.

  Maddy followed suit, letting her mount’s reins dangle. She removed her hat and placed it on the saddle horn. The breeze fluffed her feathery hair. One corn-silk strand blew across her cheek.

  He had an urge to brush it back, to feel its sleek texture. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

  “Why didn’t you stay here and run the spread with Rob?” she asked.

  “You don’t know?” When she shook her head, he went on. “When Dad died, one of us had to work to pay medical costs. I was the logical one, and the DEA liked my two years of law school.”

  “I know you always had an interest in the law, in law enforcement. Why the DEA? Why not Denver Police?”

  Back then, he’d wanted to get away, see more of the country. He could hardly say that to the woman he’d criticized for having jet fuel in her blood. Besides, it was more complicated than that.

  “The federal job paid better, and I knew if I lived too close, I’d second-guess Rob, tell him how to run things. We didn’t usually agree on ranch management. Or much else.” With Rob gone, it pained him to admit that. It seemed shameful, disloyal, but somehow he expected Maddy to understand.

  “I don’t doubt you two were at odds. Rob the fun-loving extrovert and Holt the serious problem-solver. You were always bossing us kids around.” Humor flicked across her liquid gaze, replaced by compassion. “So, you couldn’t be there to take charge, but you sent money now and then?”

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  She folded her arms and waited. The set of her full mouth meant business. “I’m an old friend. And I care. And yes, I’m nosy. Well, did you send money?”

  Holt stalked in a circle. What the hell did she think he did? He sighed, staring into the distance, across the valley. Beyond the line of trees that hid the dirt track, something moved. Probably mule deer. Hard to tell at a distance as far as three gridiron lengths.

  “Dammit, of course I did.” He faced her again, faced her probing. Nimble perception lurked in her questions, but he let her herd him anyway. “Every month. The Valley-D was half mine. Rob worked the place, but I helped pay the bills.”

  “And you came home to help out whenever the DEA gave you leave. I’ll bet you never took a real vacation or went anywhere but right back here.”

  How could she read him so well? “Pretty clever, aren’t you, McCoy? Roping me in and dropping on the hackamore.”

  “You did the best you could, Holt. You had no choice. Don’t beat yourself up about not having done more. You can’t always be in charge. You can’t fix everything. Rob bore much of the responsibility.” A shaft of sunlight gilded her hair like gold in an old painting, just as her questions illuminated his assumptions.

  “I can see you made a hell of a reporter. How’d you learn questioning techniques?”

  She smiled wistfully. “From an old newspaper hound in San Diego named Pete Muñoz. I followed him around on countless stories until he told me I was wasting my photography talent and booted me in the direction of a travel magazine. I’ve been on the go ever since.”

  “Not just photographing, but photo-journalism. He taught you well. He did the right thing making you fly on your own. Suits you, the international gig, does it?

  “I’ve had a good ride.” She said it with a smile that didn’t brighten her eyes.

  At a loss, he said, “Maybe you’ll get a chance to use that sharp digging at the Circle-S.” He handed her Chica’s reins. “We ought to get going now.”

  One minute she sparkled with excitement, and the next shadows dimmed her eyes. The woman was a puzzle. If only he could get her to open up. She’d popped him open like a beer can so his secrets came pouring out, but he couldn’t work it the other way around. His interrogation techniques fizzled where this blasted female was concerned.

  Holt gathered Bandito’s reins and waited for Maddy to mount up. She sat a horse well, comfortable, as skilled as any ranch kid. Which she was, more or less.

  She retrieved her hat and eased it on her head. “Guess I’ll just have to ignore hat hair.” Grinning, she placed her left foot in the stirrup.

  With her long legs, she needed no assistance mounting a horse, even a tall one like Chica. The faded denim of her designer jeans stretching across her rounded behind drew his gaze like a lodestone.

  Holt dragged his glance away, afraid he’d be tempted to give her a boost, as an excuse to put his hands on her. No matter what he thought of her, his desire for her only grew. Hell, he was getting used to con
stant arousal. Sex with Maddy would be like the woman herself. Sensual. Exhilarating. Nothing but trouble.

  And he couldn’t stop wanting her.

  A flash of light across the meadow caught his eye. Sunlight reflecting on a mirror?

  Or on metal?

  He lunged for Maddy before she could swing her right leg over the saddle.

  “Get down!”

  She gasped with surprise, falling into his arms like a newborn colt, all long limbs and slender body. Her hat tumbled away to the side. “What the hell!”

  Something whizzed past them. The aspen branch above exploded into splinters. The crack of a rifle shot echoed across the meadow.

  Holt and Maddy dropped to the ground.

  Both horses startled. The mare jolted away. Bandito reared and hoofed at the sky. He bolted upstream after Chica.

  Another shot slammed into the aspen’s trunk. Shattered wood fragments sprayed them like pellets.

  Maddy’s heart raced. Trembling, she clung to Holt. “Gunshots,” she whispered, more to assess the reality of it than to state the unnecessary.

  Holt kept one arm around her as they crab-crawled toward a scraggly cedar bush. “Stay down. This isn’t much protection, but we have no choice. At least he can’t see us.”

  “Who could be shooting at us?” Dried stubble beneath their shelter pricked at her bottom. She huddled in his embrace, taking comfort in his familiar smell and the heat of his hard body. Shifting for comfort, she scooted closer.

  “He’s over there on the dirt track.” Expression as hard as the silver in Ghost Mountain, he peered across the meadow. “And I doubt he mistook us for a deer. Must have a hell of a site on that rifle.”

  Her discomfort flicked away, and a moment later, an idea ramped up fear to full-blown panic. “It could be Rob’s murderer!”

  “Similar weapon. Long range and powerful. If it is the same guy, it means we’re getting too close. Could be there’s something in those pictures.”