The Cowboy Target

by Terri Reed

After attaching her hip holster at her waist, she contemplated her next move. First place to start was at the house. She hurried across the drive and entered the Monroe home. For a moment she stood stock-still in the entryway as she considered the best place to look for some clue as to where he’d gone. She went to his office and rounded the desk to sit in his leather chair. She studied the desk.

  Neat and tidy, yet showing signs of Wyatt.

  A half-filled coffee mug, a small bowl of almonds within reach. His computer was off. She contemplated firing it up, but she didn’t know his passwords and would only waste time trying to figure them out. A notepad and pen lay on the desk.

  She ran her fingers over the pad. She could feel the indentation where the pen had dug into the paper. She opened the desk drawer and found a pencil. Using the edge of the pointed tip, she lightly shaded over the indentations.

  A set of numbers appeared in the etching. From the prefix, she guessed the number belonged to a local phone. She looked around and realized there was no landline in the office. She dug out her cell phone and dialed the number.

  After a few rings a female voice answered. “Whiskey Saloon.”

  Jackie frowned. “Saloon?”

  “Yeah. What can I do for you?”

  “Uh, who is this?”

  “Pearl. Who’s this?”

  “I’m looking for Wyatt Monroe.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Jackie thanked the woman and hung up. Why would Wyatt write down the bar’s phone number? Maybe the number had been on the pad for a long time and had nothing to do with what was going on now.

  But it gave her an idea. She quickly dialed Trent Associates. When her coworker Simone answered, Jackie greeted her warmly, then asked, “Hey, could you contact Anthony Carlucci and ask him to run a cell number for me? I want the last incoming and last outgoing numbers.”

  Carlucci was their contact in the Department of Justice. As a former Secret Service agent and lawyer, he’d joined Trent Associates for a short time and taken on one assignment, protecting the widow and son of a U.S. senator from a ruthless killer. By the time the threat was neutralized, Anthony had fallen in love with the widow, prompting him to join the DOJ and move permanently to Washington to be with the woman and child.

  “Is this an emergency?” Simone asked, reminding Jackie that reaching out to Carlucci was reserved for emergencies only. Trent didn’t want to abuse the connection.

  Jackie winced. She wasn’t sure if this situation constituted an emergency or not. But she wasn’t taking any chances. Not with a murderer loose. “Enough of one.”

  “Then give me the number.”

  Jackie did.

  “I’ll call you back in a few,” Simone promised.

  Secure in knowing Simone was a woman of her word, Jackie decided there wasn’t anything more to find in the office. She headed back to the living room. Lying on the coffee table was the book Wyatt had taken from George’s house.

  Next to it was the slip of paper with the odd numbers that Wyatt had found lodged inside the book. She’d forgotten about it in the chaos of someone trying to break in and then Alexander going missing. She stared at the numbers. They seemed familiar. She called Simone back.

  “Impatient much?” Simone said with a laugh when Jackie identified herself.

  “You know it,” Jackie replied. “Actually, I have another request. Wyatt found something that might be a clue as to who killed his ranch hand. It’s a set of numbers. Too many for a phone. I’m thinking maybe a bank account.”

  “Give ’em to me and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Jackie read off the long set of digits. If anyone could figure out the puzzling numbers, it was Simone. She was gifted that way.

  “Hmm. Could be an account number of some sort. But you know what I think— Hold on a second. I want to check something.”

  Simone returned to the line a few seconds later. “They’re coordinates. Longitude and latitude.”

  Of course. They were the same ones the pilot had given her, the numbers that had pointed to the place where Alexander stepped into a borehole. The place where the Degas Corporation had been surveying on Wyatt’s land.

  Not exactly proof that the Degas representative was George’s murderer, but...

  “Anthony got back to me with those numbers on the cell you wanted,” Simone said, breaking through her thoughts.

  “Can you text them to my cell?”

  “Sure thing,” Simone said. “Jackie, be careful, okay?”

  “Always.” She hung up, and almost immediately the text came through. She glanced at the numbers and decided to start with the incoming call.

  A few seconds later a man answered. “Hello?”

  “Hello. You called Wyatt Monroe today. Can you tell me why?”

  “Who are you?”

  Fair enough question. “I’m Jackie Blain. I’m staying at the Monroe ranch. I need to find Wyatt. It’s important. Can you help me?”

  “I told Wyatt there was something fishy going on along our mutual property line.”

  Drilling? “Did you call the sheriff, Mr...?” She was pretty sure this wasn’t a Dunn but one of Wyatt’s other neighbors.

  “No. Wyatt said he’d take care of it.”

  Great. She hurried back to the office. “Can you tell me where exactly?” Picking up the pen, she added, “I’ll need directions from the Monroe ranch.”

  She wrote as the man gave her instructions. After hanging up, she called the sheriff and told him what was happening. He promised to meet her there. Because her rented SUV was now in the body shop after taking a header into a ditch, she was without wheels. Thinking about the crash reminded her of her shoulder. Though a bit stiff and sore when tested to its limit, it was usable.

  She rushed back to her uncle. “I need to borrow your truck.”

  “Did you find out where Wyatt went?” Carl asked, handing her the keys.

  “I did.” She told him what the neighbor had said. “Guy didn’t give me his name.”

  “Hmm. If it’s the neighbor to the north, it would have to be Josh Freeman.” Carl walked her to the truck. “Call when you find Wyatt, okay?”

  “I will.” She settled behind the wheel. As she started the engine, she sent up a prayer. “Lord, I’m trusting you’ve got Wyatt’s back until I can get there. I trust you’ll have my back, too.”

  She followed the directions, taking the main road and winding around the ranch to the north. She turned down a dirt road running along the fence, then came to a locked gate and halted. The land was flat for as far as the eye could see. Cattle huddled in small groups, and a few trees sprung out of the ground here and there. Where was Wyatt?

  Wishing she had binoculars, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, contemplating her next move. Why did she think the guy on the phone had told her the truth? Had she even been talking to Josh Freeman?

  Feeling like she’d made a rookie blunder, she called Simone back. “Hey again.”

  “You okay?” Concern laced Simone’s tone. “Did you find your guy?”

  “No.” Her gut churned with anxiety. “Remember that incoming number you gave me for that cell? Can you tell me who it belongs to?”

  “Let me check the info Anthony sent over. Hold on a second.”

  Tension tightened the muscles in her shoulders as she waited for Simone to return to the line.

  When she did, she said, “It’s a burner phone.”

  Dread squeezed her in a fierce grip. She’d been had. Dumb mistake. “What about the outgoing call?”

  “It’s an unlisted number. Give me a second. There are all kinds of internet sites that I can search and find what we need. You know there is no such thing as privacy anymore.”

  The sound of computer keys clicking in
rapid tempo matched the beat of Jackie’s heart. The seconds were ticking by, and the longer Wyatt was out there alone, the more chance he was in danger.

  Or he could be out shopping for supplies, for all she knew. She really hated feeling so helpless and so emotionally tied to his well-being. And that was exactly how she felt. Tied to him by some invisible cord she hadn’t seen coming or expected.

  She was rapidly falling for the handsome cowboy.

  There. She acknowledged what her heart was feeling. Didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it. Except save his hide—if she could find him. Then she’d bail out of town as fast as she could before she dug herself any deeper into an emotional abyss.

  “Got it,” Simone said. “Number belongs to Frank Dunn. Name ring any bells?”

  Her stomach dropped. She should have known. The disgruntled neighbor. “Yes. It sure does.”

  FOURTEEN

  “What’s this about, Frank?” Wyatt focused his gaze on the older man standing before him in the Dunn barn. The smells of horses and hay permeated the air.

  When Boyd Dunn had called, telling Wyatt that Boyd’s daddy wanted to talk to him, Wyatt had called the elder Dunn, who said he’d only talk in person and asked if Wyatt could come out to the ranch.

  After leaving Gabby in Penny and Carl’s care, Wyatt had driven to the Dunns’ ranch. Carl had tried to talk him into waiting for Jackie. He’d debated doing so but decided he’d rather she were there with Gabby than with him.

  Gabby’s safety was more important than his own.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Carl and Penny to protect his child, but having a professional bodyguard watching over his daughter gave him peace of mind. Besides, he was only going to the Dunns’ to talk to Frank.

  “We want you to reconsider your position on mining your land,” Frank stated.

  Men and a few women from the neighboring ranches surrounded him. Slowly, he turned to stare each of the six people in the eye. “You all think you can intimidate me into signing over my mineral rights? Is that it?”

  “We just want you to see reason,” Josh Freeman said. “Some of us are barely making ends meet. The money from the minerals would make a huge difference in our lives.”

  “I’ve got the bank breathing down my neck,” another man, Ed Wright, commented. “We could sure use the money that company is offering us. But they won’t deal unless you cooperate.”

  Wyatt understood their plight. He really did. But how did a financial crisis on their part constitute the need for him to bend his principles? “Do you even know what mineral they want to take from the ground?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Genna Kastner said. “Not when we have hungry mouths to feed.”

  “I heard it was gold,” another man said.

  “Naw, more like silver or copper. If it were gold, we’d know,” Ed said.

  “It’s uranium,” Wyatt told them. “You know, the stuff they make nuclear weapons out of.”

  There was a pause as the group absorbed that information.

  From the shadows of the back of the barn, a man stepped forward. “Uranium is used for more than just weaponry. It’s used for electricity and fuel.”

  Pendleton. Figured the city slicker would be at the heart of this convention.

  “The power from one kilogram of uranium is approximately equivalent to 100,000 kilograms of oil. Which means that mining for uranium has a lesser impact on the environment than drilling and mining for fossil fuels,” Pendleton continued. “And unlike oil or gas, nuclear fuel is solid and immune to the environmental problems posed from spillage during transportation.”

  “No matter what spin you put on it, you can’t tell me there aren’t risks to mining uranium. Risks that would affect us and our children,” Wyatt countered.

  “No, I won’t tell you there aren’t risks. But aren’t there risks in everything in life, Mr. Monroe?” Pendleton stepped fully into the circle. “What I will tell you is this—uranium is a naturally occurring element in soil, rocks and water. And yes, it’s radioactive, but natural uranium’s amount of radioactivity per gram is relatively low. The Degas Corporation takes every precaution to protect its workers, the public at large and the environment. We use a process called in situ leaching, with minimal surface disturbance and no tailings or waste rock. I have charts and reports that you can read that will prove to you that the Degas Corporation has only the best interests of the people of Lane County in mind during this process.”

  Wyatt held up a hand. “Right. Like you had my best interests at heart when you drilled on my land without my permission. I don’t think so, Pendleton. I don’t trust you, and I sure don’t trust a corporation whose sole goal is to make money off the land.”

  “But aren’t we all making money off the land?” Genna asked. “Our cattle and horses graze off the natural resources on our ranches. We cut our trees to sell as firewood. How is pulling a natural resource out of the ground any different from using the surface resources?”

  “People won’t end up with cancer from cutting down a tree or from the animals eating the sagebrush.” Millie Tipton spoke up for the first time.

  Wyatt was grateful for her input. Apparently he wasn’t the only one disturbed by the idea of uranium mining.

  “The benefits outweigh the risk,” Josh Freeman insisted. “I’m willing to take the risks on my land.”

  A chorus of “me, too” went around the circle.

  “That’s your choice,” Wyatt said. “It’s not mine.”

  “And I can respect that, Mr. Monroe,” Pendleton said. “But to access some of your neighbors who’d like to accept our offer requires use of the roads cutting across your land.”

  Wyatt set his jaw. He stared at the faces looking back at him with expectation. He wanted to say no. He wanted to be selfish and make the decision that was best for him and his family. Yet he understood what his neighbors were saying. These were tough economic times. Granting access to the roads might be a compromise he could make. He’d have to pray about it. “I need to think on it.”

  That was as much of a commitment as he could make.

  But the disquiet creeping through him like a thief in the night had him eyeing his neighbors with wary suspicion. Someone had tried to kill him. Had it been one of these people?

  Yet here they all stood talking to him, reasonable and desperate. Desperate enough to do him bodily harm?

  Or was there something more going on?

  He wondered what Jackie would say, how she would feel about all of this. And he wondered when her opinions had become so important to him.

  * * *

  Jackie parked her uncle’s truck behind Wyatt’s rig. At least she’d found him. She let out a breath of relief. And apparently there was a party going on, judging by the number of other vehicles parked in the Dunns’ large driveway. She placed a call to the sheriff with the news that she’d found Wyatt and told him about the change of venue. Sheriff Landers promised to head over right away. Pocketing her phone, she headed toward the house, but loud voices coming from the barn had her veering in that direction.

  As she neared the door of the barn that was cracked open, she heard Wyatt say, “I need to think on it.”

  Then voices erupted, talking over each other.

  “Come on, Wyatt. What’s there to think about?” a man asked.

  “Just say yes and be done with it,” another man exclaimed.

  She reached for the barn door handle, when the scuff of a shoe on the loose gravel of the walkway sent a shiver of alarm racing over her. Instantly, she reached for the weapon tucked inside the holster at her hip. A hand clamped over her mouth before she could turn around. The hard barrel of a gun jammed into her ribs.

  “Don’t struggle,” a deep male voice hissed into her ear. “I’d hate to have to kill
you.”

  She held still, assessing her attacker. Approximately six-four or so, with a strong grip. The fingers covering her mouth dug into her like sharp talons.

  “Drop your weapon,” the man said, his voice soft like a whisper in her ear. “Don’t try anything or I will shoot you.”

  Weighing her options, she held the SIG out and dropped it at her feet. Her captor kicked the weapon aside until it was hidden in a clump of weeds. Yanking her backward, he propelled her away from the barn toward Uncle Carl’s truck.

  No way was she going anywhere with him. She jabbed her elbow back and connected with his ribs. He let out a satisfying grunt of pain. Using her heel, she stomped down on his instep.

  “You’ve done it now,” he muttered.

  She fought harder. Twisting and turning, hoping to loosen his hold over her mouth so she could scream.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw the hand holding the weapon swing toward her head. She tried to duck away. The butt of the gun rammed against her head, and pain exploded at her temple. The world winked out.

  * * *

  Jackie came to with a start. The musty smell of moldy earth and rust assaulted her senses. Her head throbbed. Her heart thundered in her chest. She blinked, taking in the dimly lit space. She was inside some sort of shed filled with yard tools and a workbench with a jagged table saw. She tried to rise, but duct tape had been wound across her chest and biceps, securing her to a metal chair. Her feet weren’t bound. She kicked and struggled against the tape. She screamed with frustration.

  “No one will hear you,” a deep voice stated from somewhere to her right.

  She whipped her head in that direction and immediately regretted the movement. She gritted her teeth against the ache in her head and stared at the man leaning against the wall. Piercing blue eyes regarded her steadily. Dark hair peeked out beneath a well-worn tan cowboy hat. His jaw line was firm and his shoulders broad. It was the man who had been with Boyd and Pendleton last night, out by the creek. Darrin Dunn.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t let you interrupt them.” He pushed away from the wall and walked closer.