by Sheryl Lynn
“My people are doing nothing to raise alarm. Relax, Miss Forrest.”
Easier said than done. The minutes ticked past with excruciating slowness. Radio transmissions and the increasingly annoyed voice of the drop-off man were the only sounds. The sky beyond the big window slowly changed from black velvet to pearl to turquoise. Elise left the room, but returned shortly with a cart containing coffee. Kara helped her mother serve. Thank-yous rippled through the dining room like an echo.
“I’m at the county line,” the agent said. “Still nothing, and I’m past the surveillance posts.” The transmission broke and crackled with static. “I’m going five more miles before I turn around and try another sweep.”
“Something is wrong,” Frankie said.
“Please be quiet, Miss Forrest”
A man hurried into the dining room and whispered in Agent Patrick’s ear. Her eyes widened momentarily before narrowing and her entire expression tightened. “Where?” she asked.
“Everywhere,” the man replied.
“What?” Frankie cried. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Waving for silence, Agent Patrick turned on a small television atop the sideboard. A snowy picture showed Belinda Bannerman Caulfield garbed in black and wearing sunglasses.
“...offering a million-dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of my son’s killer.”
A disembodied voice asked: “Do the police have any leads at all, Mrs. Caulfield?”
“The police are doing nothing! My son was murdered and the police have done absolutely nothing to bring his killers to justice. I will have justice. I will not rest until those vicious brutes are convicted and sentenced to death.”
Frankie felt certain this had to be some kind of macabre joke. Or maybe she still slept and everything that had happened this morning was part of an elaborate nightmare.
The camera switched from Belinda to a news anchor. “In case you’re just tuning in, folks, that was Belinda Bannerman Caulfield, the empress of retail-mall jewelry stores. Two days ago her son Julius Bannerman was brutally murdered in his sleep. Thus far, the police have no leads as to the identity of the butchers who committed this heinous crime.”
The camera switched again, this time to a close-up of the Colorado Springs police chief. The reporter asked for his take on the situation. The man looked somewhat befuddled and extremely annoyed as he muttered a terse, “No comment.”
The FBI agent who’d brought the news to Agent Patrick’s attention switched the channel. Another morning-news show depicted a pan shot of a Bannerman Fine Jewelers store. The camera zoomed in on a young man wearing a suit and a gold name tag. Off-camera, a reporter said, “Julius Bannerman’s murder must be a horrible shock for you.”
“Uh, well, I’ve been working for Bannerman’s for the past three years. Everyone knows Julius was really close to his mother.”
The agent changed the channel again. Belinda was featured, her voice hoarse but firm as she told the world about the million-dollar bounty she offered for the arrest of her son’s killers.
The agent flipped through channels. Every station carried the story about Belinda and Julius. Nobody mentioned Penny, the wedding or the kidnapping. Somebody turned on a radio. The story was all over the radio airwaves, too, with sound clips from the press conference and commentary from talk-show hosts. The spin on all the stories was that a leading scion of Colorado society had lost her son in a brutal murder and the authorities were doing nothing to find the killer. Commentators challenged listeners to answer why private citizens could not depend on law enforcement to protect them.
Frankie turned her disbelieving gaze on Max. He appeared as shocked as everyone else in the room, but she knew it was an act. He’d put Belinda up to this. With malice aforethought and complete indifference toward Penny’s life he’d convinced his wife to broadcast details of the murder. Stiff-legged, fearing if she relaxed her muscles she’d collapse, she stalked across the dining room.
“You did this. You killed Julius and now you’re killing Penny to cover your tracks.”
“That doesn’t even merit a response,” he said coolly.
She swung at him. McKennon slipped between them and blocked the blow. She struck his forearm with her forearm. It was like striking a two-by-four, and the shock waves numbed her arm to the shoulder. Her uncle and Ross grabbed her arms and dragged her away from Max.
“He’s the killer! Make him tell me where Penny is!”
Chapter Ten
“Where’s your gear, McKennon?” Max Caulfield dropped a gym bag on the floor. His stiff shoulders radiated tension. He turned a slow circle as if checking out escape routes or the location of enemies.
The lobby was empty. The FBI had requested that all resort employees remain in their quarters. Not that it did any good, J.T. mused. The big mystery was a mystery no more, and all secrets were out on the table. Belinda’s press conference was making national news.
J.T. observed the boss. The crisply starched shirt and closely shaven face. The glossy shine on his shoes. In his forties, Caulfield kept himself fit and trim, as meticulous about his personal appearance as a cat. Appearances meant everything. It drove him crazy if any person failed to recognize him for what he was: successful, attractive and in charge. A rottweiler in a dog-eat-dog world.
“By the way, if I haven’t said thanks, then thanks,” Caulfield said. “Frankie has a wicked right hook.”
J.T. hadn’t blocked Frankie’s punch for Caulfield’s sake. He’d blocked it because if she’d hit him he’d have had her arrested and charged. If not for a roomful of law enforcement officials Caulfield would be now nursing a busted nose.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Get the car.” Caulfield tossed a set of keys.
J.T. quelled his reflexes. The keys struck his forearm. They clattered to the floor. He wondered if perhaps Frankie was correct and Caulfield had staged the kidnapping. He didn’t see why Caulfield would do it. He was a man who never did anything without a damn good reason. Perhaps something had happened between Julius and the boss, something sufficiently threatening to Caulfield’s position.
“Pick up those keys.” His voice quavered with rage. His dark eyes blazed.
“Did you put Mrs. Caulfield up to the press conference?”
“Is that what your problem is? Don’t be an ass.”
“Do you care at all what happens to Penny?”
“Pick up the keys and get the car. We’re leaving. Do you have any idea what kind of mess we’ll find at home? Do you? Every reporter in the state will converge on the house. In the country!” His cheek muscles twitched. “I always wanted to see myself on the cover of People, but not this way.”
Caulfield had lost his temper before, but never like this. An angry flush crept over his neck. His ears had turned bright red. A vein pulsed in his temple. He appeared on the verge of a stroke.
“I quit.” J.T. spoke before he’d fully decided, but once said, it felt strangely satisfying.
“You can’t quit.”
J.T. lifted an eyebrow.
“This is all about Frankie, isn’t it?” He swiped a hand angrily through the air. “I screwed up. Blew your cover. I’m sorry. Feel better now?”
“Have a nice drive.” J.T. turned his back on the boss—former boss.
“Don’t cross me, McKennon. She isn’t worth it. No woman is worth it.”
She was worth it. Frankie Forrest was worth fifty Caulfields. He’d find another job. Or two jobs, or even three. He and Jamie would do just fine. When his son awakened, J.T. would feel right about how he’d earned the money to pay for Jamie’s care. And now he had a chance to make up for what he’d done to Frankie. A chance to feel alive again.
“Damn you, McKennon! The evidence says Frankie is going down. Stick with her and you’re going down, too! I’ll bury you.”
Not if I bury you first, J.T. thought darkly.
“J.T., come on, man. We’re a team. I need you. You’re the best there is.”
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Bristling at Caulfield’s familiarity, J.T. turned around. Anger tightened his scalp. “We are not a team. Never were.”
“I thought we were friends, J.T.”
He resented this ploy. “You thought wrong. I thought wrong. You’re wrong about Frankie, too. I won’t let you turn her into the scapegoat for Julius’s murder. You know as well as I do that she had nothing to do with it.”
“Do you honestly think Penny could have pulled this off by herself? Cute girl, but dumb as a box of rocks. Nobody would buy it.” He shook a finger like a schoolteacher making a point. “I know for a fact Frankie is behind this. If you’d pull your head out of your crotch, you’d see it, too.”
He knew something, J.T. realized with a start. Evidence? What evidence? Caulfield never made wild guesses or wasted his time on unprovable theories. He didn’t make lame accusations, either. If he set his sights on a target he had a good reason for Joing so. J.T. suddenly realized his own mistake. He’d let himself believe Caulfield was merely blowing smoke. Frankie was in a hell of a lot of trouble.
Caulfield extended the car keys, politely. “Forget this crap about quitting. This conversation never happened.”
“No. It’s over.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
He reached the dining room, and from the doorway he observed Frankie. Heaviness settled in the pit of his belly. Making love to her had transcended sex. With her he’d felt fully alive, fully human again. A hard shell around his emotions he hadn’t even been aware of had cracked and opened his soul. It was as if he’d been asleep and now he was awake. It hurt.
It hurt to see Frankie now. Flanked by cousins, she sat rigidly on a chair. Her big, haunted eyes and drawn face wore an expression of somebody who’d stepped to the gates of Hell and peeked inside.
She’s going down, Caulfield had promised. Evidence. How far would he go? How far could he go? Caulfield had the smarts and the resources to do almost anything he set his mind to. Somebody had lured Frankie to the resort. To stop the wedding? Or to get her out of the way so he could plant evidence.
He entered the room. Frankie didn’t even glance his way, and that hurt more than anything. Steeling his emotions he approached Agent Patrick. “Any word, ma’am?”
She indicated the television set and radios with a weary sweep of her hand. “Other than being in the midst of the story of the year, nothing. I’m bringing my man in. There’s no sign of the unsubs anywhere. Where is Mr. Caulfield?”
“Headed back to the city.”
“Did he know his wife was going to pull this stunt?”
“He said no, ma’am.” He had his doubts.
“Civilians,” she muttered.
“May I speak to you privately?”
She stepped outside the dining room with him. Arms crossed, scowling, she didn’t appear receptive to anything he might say. He had to say it anyway.
“I’ve quit Mr. Caulfield’s employ. Some of the things he’s said to me lead me to believe he might possibly be involved. He may be withholding evidence.”
She made a little hissy noise through her nose.
“He informed me that he’s going to make sure Frankie Forrest takes the heat for the murder.”
“If she didn’t do it, then she has nothing to worry about. In any case why tell me? Murder is the state’s problem, not mine.”
That wasn’t the answer he expected. Nor did he expect her open hostility. No doubt she had her own problems with a kidnapping gone bad. This wouldn’t look good in her next progress report.
“I don’t have time for this, Mr. McKennon. I know Max’s reputation. It’s solid.”
Oh boy, he thought. Frankie was right. The agent was firmly in Caulfield’s court. “A few months ago Mr. Caulfield asked me to find out where Frankie was living and working. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it seems peculiar. He gave me no reason why he wanted the information.”
“Maybe he was lonesome.”
“Somebody tipped off Frankie to the wedding. Anonymously.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Agent Patrick,” a uniformed state officer said. “We have a situation.” He gestured for her to pick up a telephone.
Activity ceased and voices hushed as all attention centered on the agent in charge. Her end of the conversation consisted mostly of “Uh-huh,” and “Right.” She sank onto a chair and hunched over, with a hand across the side of her face to muffle her words. After she hung up she looked to the colonel.
“They found her?” he asked.
“We may have taken a kidnapper into custody.”
“Penny?”
The agent shook her head. “Police are at the scene of a car accident. The driver is en route to the hospital in the Springs. There was a map in the car with a site marked on Forest Road 59. And he was carrying Julius Bannerman’s cellular telephone.”
The Colonel’s face turned red. “What about Penny?”
“The driver is unconscious. Hypothermia and carbon monoxide poisoning. We think the car he was driving is stolen. We won’t know anything else until he’s awake and talking.” She pointed at a pair of agents. “You and you, come with me. The rest of you continue monitoring communications.”
Pandemonium broke out with the Dukes swarming around Agent Patrick. They shouted questions and demanded answers. J.T. took the opportunity to slip in next to Frankie. She cringed away from him. Her eyes blared hatred.
“I have to talk to you.”
She clamped her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders into a solid, unyielding block. “Get away from me.”
He lowered his voice. “I promised to get Penny back. I meant it.”
“I know exactly what your promises mean. Zip. Now get away from me.” Her chin quivered and tears hovered on her lower lids. “You used me.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Like I believe that.”
Feeling squeezed by the cacophony of anxious voices rising and falling around him, he offered his hand. “Five minutes. Give me five minutes. Please.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m the only thing standing between you and Caulfield. Now come with me.”
As if it hurt to move, she rose creakily and shied away from his proffered hand. Arms still crossed, she sidled past him toward the door. Once in the hallway he caught her elbow and hustled her toward the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?”
“My room.”
She twisted violently away. “Like hell!”
“You need to get out of here.” Realizing he did this all wrong, he stepped back. He slid a hand over the back of his neck. Tension ached in his scalp and spine. “I was wrong.”
“No kidding.” Her voice quavered. Her knuckles were white from clutching her elbows.
“I should have explained what I was up to. I thought I was protecting you.”
“Nice recovery attempt, but I’m not buying.”
“I quit this morning. For real. I no longer work for Caulfield.”
“Now where have I heard that before?” She pulled a thoughtful face. “Oh yeah, from you. Silly, silly me, I felt sorry for you.”
“When he ordered me before to gather evidence, I knew there was no evidence to find. I needed to protect you.”
“You needed the money.”
Hurt arced through his midsection.
“I trusted you.” Her voice barely rose above a hoarse whisper, but it cut through him like a knife. “I thought maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life I met a guy who wasn’t total pond scum.”
Fighting with her over this accomplished nothing. Words would never reach her. “You need to get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I have Penny. Especially not because you say so.”
“The kidnappers know Julius is dead. Who does that leave to pay the ransom?”
She frowned. “We caught one. Do you think the others will try to get the ransom anyway?”
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br /> “Maybe. They won’t try to get it from Mrs. Caulfield. She’s already announced her intentions.”
“My aunt and uncle?”
“Likely choice, but there’s a problem. Even if the kidnappers believed the cops weren’t involved before, they have to know now, with the murder being investigated. This resort is hot. Too hot.”
“Me?” She mouthed the word.
“Penny will tell them about you.”
“She knows I don’t have any money.”
“She won’t tell them that.”
She shook her head. A single tear tracked silver down her pale cheek. He wanted to hold and comfort her so badly his arms ached. He suspected if he touched her she’d slug him. Or worse. She’d walk away and refuse to speak to him again.
“The whole world is hot,” she said. “Penny is—is—she’s a liability.”
Perhaps quitting hadn’t been such a good idea. Inside the Bannerman estate he had access to Caulfield’s files and desk drawers. Like most egomaniacs Caulfield was addicted to recording his every action. He hoarded memos and other writings as if they were valuable antiquities. If he’d arranged the kidnapping he’d have records somewhere.
He’d have evidence. Evidence he meant to use against Frankie.
“We have an advantage.”
She peered suspiciously from the corner of her eye. “What?”
“Risk factor.”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll make one assumption. We know whoever kidnapped Penny is an insider. But the fact that one of them got caught this morning means they aren’t that well informed.”
Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. “Okay.”
“What that tells me is that an insider set this up, but the three people doing the dirty work are on their own. The ransom is their only payoff.”
“I don’t follow.” She moved to the base of the stairs and sat on a step. After wrapping her arms around her legs, she rested her chin on her knee.
The urge to touch her grew so powerful he crammed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s say I wanted to get rid of Julius. It has to look like an accident. Somebody else has to take the blame.”
