by Cassie Miles
She climbed back into the truck. Her eyes were bright. “Thanks for bringing me out here, Burke. I needed to smell the land, to hear the cattle lowing. Music to my ears.”
“Another golden oldie?”
“How about ‘Moo-oo-oon River?’”
“Very funny,” he said. “There’s another reason I wanted to get you alone. I need your help, Carolyn.”
“Hold that thought,” she said. “We’ve got another gate to go through.”
As she repeated the opening and closing procedure on the second gate, he reconsidered his plan. He had no right to ask her to get involved with Logan and the SOF. She wasn’t a trained investigator, and he might be leading her into danger.
Instead of getting back into the truck, she motioned for him to drive forward and get out. “Come with me, Burke.”
She strolled through the field toward the herd.
In Wisconsin, he’d seen plenty of cows, but those were friendly black-and-white-spotted Holsteins. These heavy-shouldered Black Angus looked rugged and undomesticated. Beef cattle. Western cattle.
Her cell phone rang, and while she answered, he stroked the solid flank of a steer that turned, glared and ambled toward a water trough. The south pasture wasn’t open range. A barbed wire fence ran from the road to the rugged cliffs of the foothills. He noticed a trail outside the fence.
Carolyn finished her call and joined him. “That was my attorney. He’s not happy about paying a ransom.”
“Neither am I,” he admitted.
“There might not be a choice.”
Her tone was crisp and matter-of-fact, as if she were discussing a business transaction instead of a kidnapping. He wondered how long her strict self-control would last. How much pressure could she take?
As she casually smoothed the hide of another massive steer, she asked, “Why are we here?”
“I wanted to see the field where the sabotage took place so I could figure out why it happened here.”
“Easy access,” she suggested. “It’s close to the road.”
“But still hidden from direct sight of the ranch house.” He pointed to the trail at the edge of the fence. “Where does that lead?”
“They call it the Indian Trail. It connects with a pass through the mountains.” She tipped back the brim of her hat and looked up at him. “You said you needed my help.”
He nodded. “You know who I consider my number one suspect.”
“Sam Logan and the SOF.” The moment she spoke his name her expression darkened. “You could be right. From what Polly said, it sounds like those guys like to cause trouble.”
“I want to get inside the SOF compound and take a look around.”
“Go for it, Burke. Do you need a search warrant?”
“It’s going to take more than a piece of paper. A militia group that’s opposed to government interference isn’t likely to open their gates to a fed. This could end in a standoff.”
“Like Waco,” she said.
“It occurred to me that Logan might be convinced to show off for his old girlfriend. He might even offer to take you on a tour.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want me to call Logan and ask him if I can come inside?”
“We need to get in there.”
“I can’t do that.” She lowered her head and stalked back toward the truck. Halfway there, she turned. “Logan hates me. What makes you think he’d respond to me?”
“Ego,” he said. “Logan is the head of the SOF. He’ll want to brag, to show you how important he is.”
“Damn it, you could be right.” She circled the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.
As soon as Burke slid behind the wheel, she started talking again. “Even if I could convince him to let me into his little kingdom, I don’t see what good it will do. Logan might be a jerk, but he isn’t stupid. If he’s involved in the kidnapping, he won’t lead us to Nicole. Not unless I have a million bucks in my back pocket.”
“You can try.”
Her cell phone rang again. She answered in a brisk tone, then inhaled a gasp. “How did you get this number?”
She looked at him with terror in her eyes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Please hold on,” she said into the phone. “I can’t hear you. Let me put you on speakerphone.”
Pressing a button, she held the phone so he could hear.
“Go ahead,” Carolyn said.
“This is the kidnapper,” said a scratchy falsetto voice. “I bet you’re glad to hear from me.”
What the hell? In his years of negotiating, Burke had never encountered a second introduction call. Last night, they’d heard his demands. Was this a second kidnapper?
The voice continued, “Do what I say and Nicole won’t get hurt.”
Chapter Seven
The last thing Carolyn expected was a call from the kidnapper. Corelli had all the equipment for this call set up at the house, and this squeaky voice was nothing like the whisper from last night. “Who is this?”
“Nicole is wearing a plaid shirt, red and blue. Wrangler jeans. The inside of her wedding ring says My horizon.”
Carolyn felt the blood drain from her face. Very few people knew about the inscription on the wedding rings. “Is Nicole there? Let me talk to her.”
“I want five hundred thousand in cash. By Monday night.”
“Half a million?” Why had the amount dropped? Why was the deadline changed?
“You’ll pay.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Don’t hurt her. Please don’t hurt her.”
“I’ll call again, Carolyn.”
The phone went dead.
What just happened? Staring through the windshield, her vision blurred. It felt like she was going to pass out.
Gently, Burke took the phone from her hand. Her arm fell limp to the seat. All the strength left her body as she collapsed against the seat on the passenger side of the truck.
“Carolyn.” Burke sounded like he was a million miles away instead of sitting beside her. “Carolyn, look at me.”
She was too devastated to move, couldn’t even summon the will to turn her head. She mumbled, “I did all the wrong things. Didn’t ask for proof of life. Didn’t keep him on the phone. I messed up.”
Burke flipped back the center partition and pulled her across the seat toward him. Weak as a rag doll, she rested against him. The warmth of his body did little to melt the chill she felt inside. As if her heart had frozen. Why is this happening to my family? Why?
A sob tore from her lips. She fought desperately for control. I’m not the kind of woman who cries. She forced herself to hold back the storm of emotion that had been building inside her. Her hands clenched into fists and she held them against her mouth, pressing hard.
“It’s okay.” Burke stroked her trembling shoulders. “Let it out.”
Still she fought. If she turned all weepy, nobody would respect her. Hell, she wouldn’t respect herself.
“Go ahead and cry,” he whispered. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Another sob wrenched through her. Another agonizing gasp. Her body convulsed. The floodgates burst. Tears poured down her cheeks. She completely lost control. For a long moment, she clung to him, weeping and trembling.
“It wasn’t the same guy,” she said between sobs. “Not the same as last night.”
“Probably not.” He caressed her hair. “It wasn’t the same voice or phone number.”
“But he knew about the wedding ring.” Her tears streamed. “How could he know?”
“There were two men who abducted Nicole.” His calm, rational voice soothed her. “Maybe they had a falling out. Maybe they went their separate ways.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
“You’re right.” And her outburst was wasting precious minutes. Ashamed and scared and angry, she pushed against his chest, separating herself from him. “What should we do?”
He held up hi
s cell phone. “I’m calling Corelli. If that phone number from the call is listed, he can give us a name.”
Still shuddering from the outpouring of emotion, she sank back against the seat and listened to Burke’s end of the conversation. While he talked, he linked his hand with hers.
From the moment they met, he’d told her that he didn’t come to Carlisle Ranch to make friends. He’d warned her that some of his advice would seem cold and hard. But she’d felt his compassion. With her free hand, she pulled her shirt collar out of her jacket and dabbed the moisture from her cheeks. It had been years since anyone saw her weep. Even when her father died, she’d kept her tears to herself.
Ending his call, he squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
“I blubbered all over you, and I don’t even know your first name. What does the J.D. stand for?”
“Jeremiah Davenport.”
She could understand why he went by initials. “You’re definitely not a Jerry.”
“Or a Davenport,” he said. “Let’s get back to business. Who would call you on that phone? Who has that number?”
“This is my personal phone,” she said. “It’s not the PDA I use for business. Some people in Denver have this number, but very few. That’s why I used this phone to contact my financial people. I wanted to keep the line clear.”
“Here at the ranch,” he said, “who knows the number?”
“Only Dylan.” But somehow the kidnapper knew.
“Last night when we heard the gunshots, where was your phone?”
She cast back into recent memory. “I was in the dining room, talking to you. The phone was in my hand. I set it down on the table.”
“And when we responded to the gunfire?”
“I left my phone on the table. Didn’t pick it up until much later.”
“After half the people on the ranch had come into the house. Any of them could have picked it up and gotten your private number.”
She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking, but she couldn’t deny his logic. “Are you saying that someone on the ranch is working with the kidnappers?”
Burke’s cell phone jingled and he answered.
Dark thoughts of betrayal flooded her mind. When she’d learned of the many people who held grudges against the Carlisles, she’d been surprised and hurt. This was worse. Someone who worked for them—a trusted employee—was involved in Nicole’s kidnapping. Anger sparked inside her, burning away the last vestige of her tears. When she got her hands on that traitor, they would pay dearly.
“We’re in luck,” Burke said. “The kidnapper’s call came from a public telephone in Riverton.”
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Burke parked the truck at the only gas station in Riverton—a small town that was about ten miles from Delta and an equal distance from the Carlisle Ranch. He’d considered taking Carolyn back to the safety of the ranch house but decided it was more important to follow this lead as quickly as possible.
The public phone hung on a dingy brick wall beside the closed doors of the auto repair bays. The windows of the gas station were dark. “What time do they open?”
“Whenever Silas O’Toole gets around to it. Usually, that’s from about ten in the morning until six at night.”
When the kidnapper called Carolyn at a few minutes after nine, he had a reasonable expectation of privacy. Using the public phone was actually a clever move because their trace resulted in a dead end.
It seemed unlikely they’d find any witnesses in this dusty little western town. Main Street’s sidewalk stretched one block with storefronts and offices on either side. Limp red bows hung from the streetlights in a feeble attempt at Christmas decorating. At the other end of the block was a bar with a Closed sign hung on the door. The only activity appeared to be at Winnie’s Café where two vehicles were parked outside at the curb.
Burke had already put in a call to Sheriff Trainer in Delta, requesting a forensic team to take fingerprints from the phone. Not that he expected to find much in the way of evidence. Even amateur criminals knew enough to wear gloves.
“I don’t see many pedestrians,” he said.
“Most of the people who live here work in Delta. Even the kids are bussed to school.” She cracked her door open. “Shouldn’t we be poking around and asking questions? Someone might have seen the kidnapper using the phone.”
“I hate to have you involved in this.” Any kind of investigation carried a certain element of danger. And he was concerned about her emotional state.
“You need me,” she said. “People around here don’t like to talk to strangers, especially not to a big city guy in a leather jacket who’s carrying an FBI badge.”
“But they’ll talk to you.”
“They’d better.”
Her smile showed a cool determination that he hardly believed was possible after her torrential breakdown. In the space of fifteen minutes, Carolyn had not only recovered her poise, but actually seemed stronger.
Though there was something to be said for Western stoicism, he’d seen the passion that burned inside her. Reaching toward her, he wiped away a smudge the tears had left on her cheek. “You’re okay?”
“A hundred and ten percent.” Her long black lashes fluttered as she blinked. “I won’t fall apart again. My dad always used to say, ‘When you get thrown from your horse, the best thing is to get right back on.’”
He didn’t see how that advice applied. “What’s that mean?”
“Don’t waste time sitting on your butt and crying.”
She climbed out of the truck and he followed. He unzipped his leather jacket, allowing easy access to his shoulder holster.
They talked to two women on the street, an insurance agent and the owner of the feed store that was directly across the street from the gas station. Everybody was friendly to Carolyn, but none of them had seen anyone using the phone.
Their next stop was Winnie’s Café. The front window was painted with a Santa Claus and a snowman. As soon as they stepped through the door, he heard Carolyn curse under her breath. She nodded toward a wiry man in a beat-up Stetson. Like the hat, his face was weathered. Leathery brown skin stretched tight across high cheekbones and a sharp chin. Burke guessed that he was probably near forty.
Quietly, Carolyn said, “That’s Nate Miller.”
He remembered the name from the list of potential kidnappers. Miller blamed the Carlisles for the loss of his cattle ranching business. He had leased his property to the Sons of Freedom. “Introduce me.”
He could see her jaw tighten as she approached the square wood table where Nate sat reading the sports page of the Denver newspaper and sipping coffee.
Keeping her voice level, Carolyn greeted him. “Mind if we join you?”
“Suit yourself.” He squinted at Burke through hostile eyes. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Has this got something to do with what happened to Nicole?”
Though he obviously knew about the kidnapping, Nate hadn’t offered condolences or any expression of concern to Carolyn. That was cold. “What time did you get to the café this morning?”
“Same as every damn morning. Nine o’clock.”
That gave him enough time to stop at the gas station and make the ransom call. “Did you drive?”
“Must have.” He sneered. “That’s my truck sitting outside at the curb.”
Carolyn’s cell phone rang. She carefully checked the number before she said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to take this call.”
As she politely stepped away from the table, Burke watched for a reaction from the man who sat opposite him. Nate Miller didn’t move a muscle, didn’t betray any sign of his grudge. When he lifted his coffee mug to his lips, his hand was steady.
If Miller was one of the kidnappers, he had to be the coolest criminal Burke had ever encountered, and that list included professional hit men, bank robbers and terrorists.
“Do you live in town?” Burke asked.
“I’ve got a littl
e place up the road near Delta. It belonged to my ma before she died.”
Nicole could be there. “Address?”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
Burke slid his FBI shield from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Yeah, you do.”
“FBI.” He sneered. “Of course, the high-and-mighty Carlisles would call in the feds. They know people. They’ve got more money than is right.”
“You know what happened to Nicole.”
“I heard about it. Everybody’s buzzing.” He set his mug down on the table. “It’s a shame. Nicole’s a nice woman. Can’t say the same for her husband.”
“Somebody might have kidnapped her to get back at him.”
Anger flared in his squinty eyes. “It’s no secret that I hate the Carlisles. Because of them, I lost my livestock and my livelihood. My wife left me. Took my son. If it wasn’t for Sam Logan paying me big bucks to rent my land, I’d have lost my ranch, as well.”
When he stood, Burke growled, “Sit down, Miller. I have more questions.”
“Here’s your answer.” Miller remained standing. “I didn’t kidnap Nicole.”
Burke had no intention of letting this guy walk away. He glanced around the café. There were only four other customers. Burke saw no reason to bust up this pleasant little establishment if this confrontation turned physical.
He took out his wallet, peeled off a twenty, dropped it on the table and stood. “Let’s take this outside.”
Miller made a beeline for the door and Burke followed.
Still on the phone, Carolyn watched with concern in her eyes. He gave her a wink. If it came down to a fight, he could take Miller without breaking a sweat. Not only was Burke six inches taller and probably forty pounds heavier, but he knew how to fight. He’d been taught by the best at Quantico. Before the FBI, he’d had five years on the street as a Chicago cop.
Truth be told, he almost wanted Miller to resist. Carolyn had eased her tension with tears. Burke would find a similar release in kicking butt.
