by Sheryl Lynn
He supposed he could survive for a month or two until he found another job. But where to find a job that paid as well and didn’t require extensive travel? Satisfaction drained away. He hated this job, but he needed it desperately.
Caulfield reached the end of the hallway. A door led outside. A mudroom filled with heavy coats and overshoes lay to the right. Wind battered at the door, moaning as if frustrated at being denied entry. J.T. repressed a shiver, along with the urge to shove his hands in his pockets.
Caulfield turned around and clamped his hands on his hips. He threw back his head and laughed.
Bemused and wary, J.T. stood at stiff attention.
“I should have kept that girl on the side,” the boss finally said. “Nobody can make me laugh the way she can. But for a broad as smart as she is, she’s got a blind spot as big as a barn door.”
Now thoroughly confused, J.T. kept stupid questions to himself.
“This is good.” Caulfield nodded, his eyes narrowed. “Coming on to you is her first mistake. What has she told you?”
“Nothing, sir.” An impulse rose to tell Caulfield that Frankie hadn’t been kidding. That would wipe that grin off his face. The impulse stuck in his throat like a wad of pulp.
“She’s a sucker for charm, McKennon. Keep playing her.”
He couldn’t help himself. “I thought I was about to be terminated, sir.”
“Over a twit like her?” He snorted derisively. Shaking a finger, he added, “But that’s good. That’ll be perfect. Tell her I canned you. Play on her sympathies.” He laughed again. “I want you to nail her.”
Usually, J.T. had little trouble following the boss’s machinations. At the moment he was lost. Unless... “So you honestly believe Miss Forrest had something to do with her sister’s kidnapping?”
“Kidnapping? We’re talking flat-out murder and extortion. Marry Julius, knock him off, then little Miss Penny gets to play the grieving widow. The rich widow with my three million bucks! That won’t happen.”
“Have you discussed this with the FBI, sir?”
“No, and neither will you. This is personal. Frankie isn’t getting away with it, and I’m the man to make sure she doesn’t. Get close to her. Hell, get her in the sack for some pillow talk.” He winked salaciously. “Do you some good. I want evidence. I want a confession. I don’t care how you get it as long as I’m the man who drags her in front of a judge. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know what you have to do.” Caulfield stalked back the way he’d come. As he passed, he shot J.T. a hateful glare. “Killing Julius,” he said tightly. “Know what that means? I have to listen to that old bat moan and groan for the next ten years. For that alone, I could kill Frankie with my own hands.”
Stunned, J.T. watched the boss walk away.
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, Frankie thought as she entered the dining room turned command post. If she were to get Penny back, she had to reclaim control of herself. No more weeping, no more panic, no more hand wringing. She paused inside the door to watch the FBI agents and state law officers. She felt immense relief McKennon wasn’t present. With the relief came shame. All her life she’d prided herself on her integrity—she did not use people. But she’d used McKennon, and he’d be the one who suffered for it. Max was probably spiteful enough to not merely fire the man, but to blackball him in the security field.
She owed McKennon a huge apology.
From the far end of the long dining table, Agent Patrick lifted her head and met Frankie’s eyes. “There’s no news yet, Miss Forrest.”
Frankie heard pity. She sensed it in the gazes directed her way. Shoulders back, spine straight, she approached the agent in charge. “I’m a professional graphologist, Ms. Patrick,” she said. “Might I look at the ransom note again? I may—”
The agent interrupted with a curt, “No.” She smiled, but it appeared forced. “I appreciate the offer, but all evidence is currently being examined by our experts.” She gestured with a hand, and another agent materialized at Frankie’s side. “This is Agent Boswell. We have more questions we’d like you to answer.”
At being dismissed so easily, Frankie bristled. “Any idiot can see this is an inside job, Ms, Patrick. I used to work for Max Caulfield. I’ve examined the handwriting of many of his employees. I might be able to learn something useful.”
“I know all about your history with Mr. Caulfield.”
Frankie heard the threat. “I didn’t kill Julius. I don’t care what his mother says. Or what Max says, either. I had nothing to do with any of this. So don’t you dare brush me off. That’s my sister out there!”
The agent’s nonreaction reminded Frankie to stay in control. Her back muscles trembled with the effort it took to maintain an easy posture.
“Penny is flesh and blood. She’s nineteen—a child. She’s pregnant, for God’s sake! What are you doing to find her?”
“Miss Forrest,” the agent’s voice dropped to a soothing purr, “our number-one priority is to have your sister returned alive and unharmed. We will not annoy her abductors or attempt any wild heroics. We will get her back.”
“How? What are you doing?”
“I’ve brought in every agent in the regional field office. By tomorrow morning twenty more will arrive. We have officers from the state police and the Colorado Bureau of Investigation running down leads and interviewing potential witnesses.” She glanced at the window. Sleet pattered across the glass. “At first light, if weather permits, we’re sending up choppers to search from the air. We have reason to believe the kidnappers are holding your sister nearby. I can’t say any more, so you must trust me.”
“Why can’t you say any more? Because you think I did it? Is that why I keep getting shoved into corners?”
“Boswell, please escort Miss Forrest out of this room.”
Frankie stepped away from the man and glared until he lowered his hands. The kindness left Agent Patrick’s eyes. Without a smile she appeared much older than Frankie had first assumed. The agent tapped a pencil against the tabletop.
“I understand your concerns, Miss Forrest.”
“You don’t understand squat! Those bastards threatened to kill my sister.” She slashed her hand through the air. “Aside from bringing in a bunch of bells and whistles and hassling my family, I don’t see you doing a thing to help her.”
This time no amount of growling or glaring dissuaded Agent Boswell. He clamped a hand around her upper arm in a grip one step below painful.
As he dragged her out of the dining room, she yelled, “I’m not that easy to get rid of! You’ll have to deal with me one way or another!” She turned her fury on the male agent. “Let me go!”
He complied, but only when she was in the hallway and he stood between her and the door. Good sense stopped her before she punched him in the nose. Getting tossed in the pokey for assaulting an FBI agent wouldn’t help Penny. She curled her hands into fists.
“Frankie!” Her cousin Janine hurried down the hallway toward her. She waved. “There you are.”
Janine hooked her arm with Frankie’s and tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re awake. We have work to do.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’re raising money.”
“Huh?”
“The ransom.” Janine wrinkled her nose as if appalled by Frankie’s stupidity. “We’ve got twenty-four hours to raise three million, and we need all the help we can get.”
Frankie stopped short, causing Janine to stumble. The horror of realization swelled in her breast as Frankie stared at her cousin. Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat. Three million dollars! A paltry sum, the kidnappers claimed. Paltry to Belinda Bannerman Caulfield maybe—the same woman who accused Frankie of murdering her son.
Chapter Six
Frankie strode through the hallways of the sprawling lodge. Three million dollars! Three million dollars or Penny died—and probably not as peacefully as Julius had,
either. Belinda Caulfield could write a check in that amount. She owned Bannerman Fine Jewelers, a chain of retail stores selling jewelry in malls across the United States. Only Max could convince Belinda to provide the ransom, and Frankie had to go and insult him. Worse, she’d insulted him through his trusted, right-hand man.
Her family could never raise the ransom money. Not in the twenty-four hours remaining, anyway. The Dukes were well-to-do, but a long way from being wealthy. Elk River Resort was worth a lot of money, but it was heavily mort-gaged: As for herself, she hadn’t even paid her phone bill this month.
Frankie had dropped in on the brainstorming session. The Colonel, Ross and Janine were making calls to friends and far-flung family. Frankie needed her aunt. Elise could charm the pants off a statue. Maybe she could charm Belinda Caulfield.
In the lobby, she stopped short and frowned at the activity. Men and women on ladders lowered chandeliers from the high ceiling. Others stood inside the huge round fireplace, cleaning the interior of the copper chimney hood. Still others dismantled the window coverings. Frankie’s jaw tightened. The Colonel took care of his employees with the same compassion with which he’d cared for his army troops. Despite the family’s current troubles the employees remained to work and collect their paychecks.
Frankie spotted her aunt seated in the lounge on the far side of the lobby. Though his back was to Frankie she recognized McKennon’s broad shoulders and shiny black hair. A spasm of pain jerked tighter the ever-present knot in her belly. Having to face him after what she’d done made her want to crawl on her belly, groveling and pleading for forgiveness. She forced her feet to move.
McKennon had his wallet out. He showed Elise a photograph of a little boy.
Elise looked over her shoulder. “Oh, there you are, dear. How are you feeling? Did a nap help?”
“Yes.”
McKennon closed the wallet and sat forward to slide it into his back pocket. She wondered who the child was. Unable to look at his face for fear of what she might see, she focused on her aunt. “What’s going on?”
“J.T. was telling me about his son.” Elise rose and patted McKennon on the shoulder in a motherly gesture. “I’m sure everything will work out,” she told him.
Son? Hurt slithered through Frankie. She’d known McKennon for years, but never heard him mention having a kid. She wondered if he had a wife, too. She shoved her hands in the pockets of the borrowed sweatpants. “I need to talk to you, Aunt Elise. It’s about the ransom money.”
“Don’t you worry, dear. The Colonel is calling in all markers, and the bank is willing to work with us on a loan.”
“We’re talking three million dollars. There aren’t enough markers.” She glanced at McKennon. He appeared interested in the conversation. Her skin itched with the effort of sensing his vibes. Did he hate her? Was he angry? She couldn’t tell.
“We will raise the money.” Elise nodded firmly.
“Belinda Caulfield has the money. Three million is chump change to her.” She grasped Elise’s slim arm. “You were the best fund-raiser in military history. You can convince her to give up the cash. I know you can.”
“I don’t know about that, dear. She’s suffered a terrible tragedy. I doubt she can bear any more involvement.”
“You have to try.”
“Not possible,” McKennon said.
She watched two women removing hanger clips from sheer draperies. “Why is it impossible? Because she hates me?”
“That, too, but mostly because she’s ill. She’s heavily sedated. I imagine Caulfield will be taking her back to the Springs first thing in the morning. She needs to see her own doctor.”
She made herself look at him. His expression was grim. Lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth. Beard shadow darkened his jaw. The urge to grovel and plead for his forgiveness freshened in her heart. “What about Max?”
“He seems a reasonable man, J.T.,” Elise said. “Will he help?”
“I don’t know.”
Elise checked her wristwatch. “Perhaps the Colonel and I can present our case to Mr. Caulfield. The poor man must be starving. He’s been at his wife’s side ever since she collapsed. We’ll take him a nice supper. I’m certain he’ll want to help.” She made her farewells and hurried away.
Frankie chewed her lower lip. She kept seeing Max’s cold eyes and colder smirk. “She doesn’t stand a chance,” she said wearily. She turned to go, but McKennon made a soft sound. She froze, chilled by embarrassment and guilt. Knowing her apology was going to have to happen eventually, she decided sooner was better than later. She sat on the couch.
Frankie fidgeted with a loose string on the sweatpants. I’m sorry, she practiced in her head, but that would sound weak. I’m an idiot, I have a big mouth. That sounded as if she made excuses.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
She shrugged. The thread snapped. She mushed it into a tiny ball between her fingers. “I didn’t know you had kids.”
“One. A little boy.”
Her discomfort deepened. “You’re divorced? He lives with his mom?”
“My wife died.”
The simple statement of fact made her cringe. How could she have worked with him for two years without knowing such a huge part of his life? Maybe Max’s betrayal hadn’t crushed her faith in her instincts. Maybe she’d never had any instincts to begin with. Maybe she’d been a fraud from the get-go, an arrogant sham, deluding herself into thinking she could understand people. “I’m sorry. What happened?” Wishing she hadn’t asked, she curled her lips between her teeth.
“A guy playing bumper tag on the highway lost control, jumped the median and struck my wife’s car head-on. She was killed instantly.”
Nodding, she fiddled with her fingernails. She hadn’t had a real manicure in months. She’d given up professional manicures, her favorite luxury, after Max dumped and fired her. She’d given up beautiful nails for Penny. How very petty, she thought. McKennon had lost his wife. “You have a live-in nanny or something?” She pictured a cute blonde who adored her employer.
“He’s in a hospital. He’s been in a coma for the past four years.”
She snapped up her head and gawked at him, horrified as much by his dry intonation as by the tragedy of a child in a coma. “Oh no,” she whispered.
“Jamie was in a car seat strapped in the back. It saved his life, but he suffered extensive head injuries. He hasn’t recovered yet.”
Something hot and hurtful loosened in her chest. Instinctively she reached a hand toward him. “God, I am so sorry. I wish I’d known. I’ve been so mean to you.”
He entwined his fingers with hers, and the corners of his mouth pulled in a gentle smile. “I like it when you’re mean.”
Hearing how she’d sounded—as if McKennon needed her pity and if she’d known he was so pathetic she’d have been nice to him—she hung her head in shame. She ought to plug up her big mouth with cement and be done with it. “How about when I’m stupid?” She sighed. “I really messed things up back there. I bet Max took big chunks out of your hide.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“He fired you, didn’t he? I am so sorry. I’ll talk to him. I’ll eat dirt. I don’t know why I did what I did, it was so dumb. All I want is Penny back, but there he was, with that smile of his and I went crazy. I’ll make it right, McKennon, I swear—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “I’d advise that you stay well away from Max Caulfield.”
She shook her head in firm denial. “I can’t let this happen. You can’t lose your job because of me.” She caught his hand in both of hers and clasped it to her breast. “You’ve been a real friend. I sure don’t deserve it. I can’t let you take the heat.”
“Stay away from Caulfield. I mean it.”
“I’m not scared of him.”
“You should be. He thinks you’re behind Julius’s murder.”
“So what? I don’t care what he thinks.”
“You b
etter care what he does. He told me I can keep my job if I can gather enough evidence to convict you.”
Uncertain if she’d heard him correctly she blinked rapidly. “What evidence?”
“He doesn’t care what it is as long as you’re convicted of murder.”
Knowing he wouldn’t joke about something this serious, she searched his face, anyway, for any hint that he was teasing. “That is so stupid. I didn’t even know about the wedding until yesterday. How could I plan a kidnapping?”
“Do you remember the Greenhill case?”
Under any other circumstances she’d be laughing her head off. She’d never committed a criminal act in her life. The very idea that anyone would suspect of her something so awful as murder transcended ridiculous. His mentioning Greenhill stripped the situation of any shred of humor.
Greenhill, a former executive for a computer company, had been suspected of selling company R&D reports to competitors. Max had gathered enough evidence to get the man fired, but not enough to convict him in a criminal court. Then, miraculously, stolen files had turned up in the trunk of his car on the very same day the firm’s security guards miraculously decided to search Greenhill’s car.
“Greenhill was too smart to leave a paper trail. He did everything by computer.”
“I never believed that rumor about Max planting evidence.” Six months ago she hadn’t believed it. Now she wondered.
“I’m not saying I believe it, either. I’m merely exploring the possibilities. Have you had any contact at all with Julius since you left the company?”
The knuckles on her right hand tingled in ghostly memory. On that last day as she’d departed Max’s office after The Big Dump, Julius had been there. Smirking, knowing full well what had happened to her and why, he’d said, “Don’t bother giving Mum a blender for a wedding present, darling. She has plenty.” She’d decked him. She figured the FBI and the police knew all about that, too. McKennon, as well. She looked away.
The seriousness of the situation slowly sank in. If Max murdered Julius, then he murdered Penny. And he would send Frankie to prison for life. The implications were too horrible to contemplate.
