From a personal standpoint, another hit had been dealt to the people who had been responsible for his sister, Carly’s, death. And Court thought maybe, just maybe, this time it would be enough for him to find peace. He was getting too old for this work. Or at least he felt like he was, which amounted to the same thing.
The only major player who had escaped the net was Rick DiMona. This time, though, they had enough evidence to issue a warrant. And, once they found those pictures, enough evidence to put him away for a long, long time when they did catch up with him. Enough evidence to ensure that Brett Sanders’s murderer would finally pay.
It was pure poetic justice that DiMona’s own actions in sending Heather into Court’s home and then kidnapping Des had finally allowed the DEA and Court to find the evidence that they would not otherwise have found.
As Court sat beside Heather in the small eight-seater aircraft, he gripped her fingers and squeezed reassuringly. “Where are we going?” she asked in a tired voice.
“I promised you I’d keep you and Des safe.” He glanced toward the young man across the narrow aisle who gave the appearance of having fallen asleep the moment he’d taken his seat. “So I’m taking you home.”
“Your real home?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where is it?”
Court allowed a weary smile to touch his lips. “A ranch in Montana. It’ll be a hell of a lot harder for anyone to get close to us there without being seen.”
Heather considered the idea. There were probably a million questions she should ask, and would have asked if her tired brain would function. “That sounds…good.”
“Yeah. Sleep for a while if you can.”
To her surprise, she could. And did.
Heather must have been dead tired because she didn’t even wake when the small plane landed. It took Court shaking her shoulder and calling her name to rouse her. Blinking against the fog of sleep that still clouded her eyes, she looked around. Across the narrow aisle, Des still slept as well. “Are we there?”
“This is the airstrip at Big Springs,” Court replied. “My brother will be here to take us to the ranch.”
Heather blinked up at him. “Your brother? But… Oh, of course.” All the information Court had given her had been false. The details associated with the fictional persona of Court Gabriele, not Court Mor gan. It was going to take some getting used to. “So, do you have any other family I should be aware of?”
Court nodded. “My mother, Kate. She’s widowed. Dad’s been dead about ten years now, so we’ll be staying with her. She’d never admit it, but she loves the company. And then there’s, my sister, MacKenzie. Kenzie lives here in town.”
“Kenzie? That’s an unusual nickname.”
Court shrugged. “It’s what Chase called her when we were little, and it stuck.”
“Chase is your brother?”
“Yup.” Court looked out the window of the taxiing plane. “There he is now.”
Heather followed his gaze to see a tall man dressed in jeans, a blue denim shirt and a black cowboy hat standing next to a dark-green sport utility vehicle parked on the tarmac. She was trying to determine if he looked anything like Court, but, just when they were getting close enough to discern details, the plane turned, and she lost sight of him. Five minutes later though, as she and Des sat in the back of the Land Rover on the way to the ranch while Court and Chase sat in the front catching up, it was easy to see that the brothers looked very much alike except in the way they dressed.
They shared the same features, the same thick black hair and the same proud carriage. The most obvious difference that Heather could see was in their eyes. Chase’s eyes, were a unique blue-grey color that reminded Heather of nothing so much as a summer thundercloud.
Des looked out at the passing countryside. “It’s nice here,” he commented.
Heather nodded. Green fields and hills rolled toward blue-tinged mountains in the distance. “Yes,” she said. “It is.”
“Look. There’s a porcupine.” Des pointed at a spiny creature waddling along at the side of the gravel road.
She smiled, and then as Des fell silent again, content to simply look around, she eavesdropped unashamedly on the conversation taking place in the front seat.
“Does Mom know you’re coming?” Chase asked.
Court nodded. “Yeah. I called.”
“What about Kenzie?”
“No, I didn’t get a chance to call her. I suppose I’d better, huh?”
Chase eyed his brother. “I’d say so. If she finds out you came home and didn’t even call I wouldn’t lay odds on her ever speakin’ to you again.” He dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out a small cellular phone. “Here.”
Court had no sooner concluded his conversation with his sister than Chase slowed the Land Rover to turn into a drive over which an enormous carved wooden sign that read Rocking-M Ranch had been raised. The drive, bordered on both sides by huge elms that arched over it, led to a low, rambling ranch-style house. An enormous covered veranda, ablaze with potted flowers, stretched across the entire front of the structure. As the Land Rover came to a sudden halt in the gravel drive, the front door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her sixties stepped out. She had snow-white hair, but she was slim and vital with a stride as steady and firm as any woman half her age. Wearing jeans, a chambray work shirt and cowboy boots, there was something about the woman that reminded Heather of Barbara Stanwyck in the old Big Valley reruns.
“Chase Morgan,” the woman shouted, “if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, slow down. One of these times your gonna come drivin’ straight into my livin’ room.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chase returned as Court got out of the vehicle and opened the rear door for Heather. Des was already sliding out the other side.
Gripping Heather’s elbow, Court led her and Des up the veranda steps. “Mom, I’d like to introduce my friends, Heather and Des Buchanan. My mother, Kate Morgan.” As hands were shaken all around, Kate studied both Heather and Des with an astute steel-hued gaze that seemed to miss nothing. Finally she nodded slightly and smiled. “Welcome,” she said simply. “Come in.”
The screen door squealed slightly on its hinges as she opened it, and they stepped into the house. Following Kate’s lead, rather than removing her shoes, Heather simply wiped them thoroughly on the mat at the door. Des, she noted, followed suit as did both Court and Chase. She guessed that on a working ranch it was probably too much trouble to be pulling cowboy boots on and off.
The house was shady and cool. Its interior was filled with old but well cared for furniture and the knicknacks provided by a lifetime of living. There were children’s handprints set in plaster hanging on the wall along with myriad photos of people and animals. A shot of a prize-winning bull graced the wall right next to a school picture of a young girl. Kenzie, Heather assumed. Perhaps the bull had been hers.
And then they were in the kitchen. A very large kitchen. The country-pine table would easily seat eight people. “How long’s it been since you ate?” Kate asked. “Did you have any breakfast?”
“No, ma’am,” Court responded. “We left in a bit of a hurry.”
She nodded. “Well, sit yourselves down then, and I’ll fix something.” She looked at her younger son. “What about you, Chase?”
“No, thanks, Mom. I ate, but I wouldn’t mind some of your coffee.”
She nodded. “Help yourself then,” she said as she removed a stack of bacon wrapped in brown freezer paper from the refrigerator. “It’s a fresh pot.”
She looked at Des. “Bacon and eggs okay with you city folks?” she asked with a grin on her face.
“Yes, ma’am,” Des responded. Heather looked at him in surprise. It was the first time she’d ever heard him call anyone ma’am. But then she supposed there was something about Kate Morgan with her gruff but caring manner that simply demanded that kind of respect.
When Heather switched her gaze back to Ka
te, she realized the woman was still waiting for her response. “Bacon and eggs are fine. Thank you.”
Heather stared out the window of the room she’d been given at the night sky. A full moon hung low in the horizon bathing the rolling hills of the ranch in silver. The night was filled with noise, but the sounds, so different from those heard in the city, emphasized the solitude. Rather than the humming of tires on pavement, she listened to the croaking of frogs and the singing of crickets. The honking of car horns had been replaced by the excited yipping and howling of coyotes in pursuit of prey. The sounds of human voices talking, shouting, laughing had been supplanted by the quiet quacking of ducks on the pond. Sighing wistfully, Heather leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. It was so beautiful here. So peaceful. She wished…
If wishes were horses, my girl, then beggars would ride. Moira Buchanan’s voice played in her daughter’s mind. Oh, how Heather missed her. Missed having a family. She hadn’t realized how much until today when she and Des had been enfolded into the Morgan family as though it was where they belonged. It had been so long since she’d been part of a family that consisted of more than two people, and it felt good.
Her mind turned to Court, to they way he’d gradually relaxed throughout the day. Teased mercilessly by his brother and sister. Pestered incessantly by his mute young nephew, Danny, who constantly placed toys in his uncle’s hands. Danny was Chase’s son, she had learned. The child had been just learning to speak when his mother was murdered. It was believed that Danny had witnessed the murder, for he had never spoken since. Her heart ached for the little boy, but it ached more for the man she was growing to love.
Did she dare dream of the possibility that she and Court might have something lasting between them?
No, it was probably better to live for the moment. It would hurt when the time came to part, but… She’d have to be blind not to see that the entire focus of Court’s life was his work. There seemed to be little room in his life for a woman. Certainly no room for the possibility of love. And despite herself, despite everything that had happened in her life, Heather still dreamed of a traditional marriage forged with love…and a man who came home every night.
Suddenly, her attention was caught by the sight of a familiar figure in the yard below. Des. What was he doing up? She observed him a moment, but all he did was walk to the fence where he stood looking at the sky. Since they hadn’t had much chance to talk in the last while, she decided to take this opportunity to slip down and speak to him.
He heard her approach as her feet crunched on the gravel and turned to greet her. “Hi, Sis. How you doing?”
“All right. Mind if I join you?”
He shook his head. “Naw. I was just enjoying the night. I know we’ve only been here a few hours, but… Well, there’s something about it. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
Heather nodded. “It sure is.” They stood side by side in silence for a time and then Heather broached a topic that had been on her mind. “You seem different, Des.”
“How so?” He glanced at her.
Heather shrugged, trying to put into words the nebulous quality that no one but she, who knew him so well, would have noticed. “I don’t know. You seem more…not happier exactly, but content, I guess. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Yeah, it does.”
“So, what happened to affect this change?”
“When I was in the rehab center, Dr. Ward figured out what was wrong with me. I have clinical depression, Sis. A treatable illness.”
Heather stared at him, unable to comment.
“How—how did Dr. Ward arrive at that conclusion?” she asked finally.
“My symptoms,” Des said. “The lack of concentration, the mood swings and periodic depression, the poor judgment, the tendency toward addiction. Add to that Dad’s descent into depression when Mom died and his suicide, and Dr. Ward came to the conclusion that I may have inherited a familial tendency toward depression which was triggered by witnessing the shooting.”
That’s how Des had always referred to it: the shooting. “Do you remember it now?” Heather asked.
Des shook his head. “No. According to Dr. Ward I buried the memory so deep it may never surface, which is fine. He doesn’t think I need to remember the details in order to put it behind me and move on.”
Heather swallowed. “So, Dr. Ward has given you medication? An anti-depressant?”
Des nodded and removed a small flat pillbox from his shirt pocket. “One every morning. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’m surprised that DiMona let you keep the pills.”
Des shrugged. “I hid them in my socks before going to see him. He never checked my ankles.”
Heather put her arm around him. “I’m glad you found what you needed, Des. All I’ve ever wanted for you is that you be happy.” Now, if only she could find happiness…. Her thoughts returned to Court and the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that faced them.
Chapter 17
“You can’t go back with me, Heather,” Court said. His voice was cool and controlled, but threaded with steel. “It’s out of the question. The reason I brought you here was so that you’d be safe while I tracked down DiMona.”
It was late morning on their second day on the ranch. Court had just informed her that he had to be back at work in Seattle the next evening. And Heather intended to go with him whether he liked it or not. “It’s me he wants, not you,” she reminded him. “How do you know he’ll even surface if I’m not with you?”
“I don’t. But if he doesn’t, we’ll find another way to get him. I refuse to put you at risk again.”
Heather stared at him, seeking a more convincing argument. It was difficult to explain, even to herself, the feeling she had that told her she must return. It was as though, by facing DiMona, she could seize back the control that had been lacking in her life for so long. DiMona had terrorized her, and in so doing had, in some way, come to represent all the fears she’d lived with for the last ten years. To conquer that fear, instinct told her she needed to face him again. Not hide and wait in fear for him to come to her. She needed to face him and win—if she could. She needed to finish it for herself, to achieve a sense of closure. But how to convince Court of that?
“It should be my decision, not yours,” she argued.
“Wrong! Jeez, I’ve never met a more stubborn woman.”
Heather stared at him indignantly. “If you think calling me stubborn and treating me like a child incapable of making my own decisions is going to convince me that you’re right, then you’re sadly mistaken.”
Court closed his eyes and took a deep breath before responding. “You’re right. I apologize.” He crossed the room to take her in his arms. “Heather, please try to understand. I can’t do my job properly if I’m worried sick about you. And, not being able to do my job properly could be dangerous.”
She didn’t want to be responsible for him getting hurt. Neither, though, did she want to stay safely ensconced on the ranch while he went off to slay her dragon. She needed to see with her own eyes that the dragon was gone or she’d never be at peace. Why was he being so obstinate? “You’ll have a better chance of catching him if you have the bait he wants, Court.”
“I can’t use you as bait. Don’t you understand that, Heather?”
She looked into Court’s amber eyes, trying to read the emotions written there, but it was useless. Did Court care about her more than he’d let on? Was that perhaps why he felt that he needed to protect her so carefully? But that was a question she could never ask, for she was afraid of the answer. “I think so,” she allowed. But that didn’t mean she could abide by his wishes.
“Good. Then let’s not argue about it anymore. I’d like to enjoy the time we have together.” Before she could respond, Court swept her into his arms and gave her one of his soul-shattering kisses. Then, while her senses were still befuddled, he said, “Come on. Let’s have a picnic. We’ll saddle a couple
of horses and get away—just the two of us. Okay?”
Heather struggled to think. She didn’t want to ruin the time she and Court had left together with arguments either. But… “What about Des?”
“He’s gone off with Kenzie to look at computer stuff. Those two are kindred spirits. Kenzie was even talking about hiring him to help her out occasionally, and she never lets anyone into her office.”
“Oh.” Well, she guessed that settled the one and only argument she had against going. Not that she really wanted one. She smiled. “A picnic sounds wonderful.”
Two hours later, Court reigned his big bay gelding, Benny, to a halt in a high meadow and waited for Heather’s dainty sorrel mare to pick her way to ward him. “How about over there?” he suggested, indicating a shady spot just a little above the stream that flowed off to their right. “We’ll leave the horses to graze by the stream.” The spot he’d indicated was blanketed with wildflowers and bordered by a rocky hillside and the stream.
Heather smiled. “It looks perfect.”
Dismounting, they led the horses to the stream. Court instructed Heather on how to ground-tether her mount by simply allowing the reigns to dangle. Then, they unloaded their blanket and picnic supplies.
Sometime later, replete and content, Heather lay on her back on the blanket, staring up at the brilliant-blue sky through the boughs of a spruce tree while Court held a small buttercup flower beneath her chin trying to determine whether she liked butter or not. “Yup,” he concluded. “I’d say you love butter.”
Undercover with the Enemy Page 17
