The Colton Ransom

by Marie Ferrarella

  The trouble was, none of the others had ever made her blood sizzle the way Trevor had, never made her soul sing the way his kiss had.

  None of them had ever aroused her to such heights the way he had, not even Kyle Buchanan, the one who had abandoned her for a rodeo career.

  She supposed, if she were being completely honest with herself, she’d had a crush—to a greater or lesser degree—on Trevor Garth from the very first time she’d laid eyes on the tall, dark and solemn-as-a-tomb man. Gabby could vaguely remember him as a young teenager, living with Faye and her son.

  After that, there were years that he was gone, living in Cheyenne and working on the police force there. And then, five years ago, he’d returned, looking even more solemn than when he’d left.

  As Gabby lay in her bed in the dark, she tried to remember if she’d ever heard him laugh with real happiness. Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a single memory. She felt that laughter was very important in a person’s life. The fact that she’d never heard him express joy saddened her.

  There was something about the man, something deep inside him, that reached out and spoke to her. Something that convinced her that Trevor needed to make a connection with another human being on an emotional level, no matter what he pretended to the contrary.

  Just before she finally drifted off to sleep an hour before dawn, Gabby decided to make it her personal mission to make the former Cheyenne police officer laugh just once.

  Who knew? He might even decide that he liked the feeling and do it again sometime.

  That it was a possibility worth exploring was the last coherent thought Gabby had before she finally managed to fall asleep.

  * * *

  “You look like hell.”

  The assessment had come from Trevor only a few hours later. He had come by to pick her up as he had promised and was standing in the foyer, looking at her a bit bemusedly.

  The comeback was automatic. “Thank you. Right back at you,” Gabby replied flippantly.

  She’d had just enough time to throw some cold water in her face and pull on a light blue blouse and a pair of jeans, as well as her favorite boots, before Trevor had come knocking on the main door.

  She felt groggy.

  Getting only a couple of hours of sleep was worse than not getting any sleep at all, Gabby decided. In her opinion, had she just kept going, she would have probably felt a good deal fresher and alert than she did at this moment.

  Gabby blinked, clearing her vision, and paused to scrutinize Trevor. Her flippant remark wasn’t just flippant—it was accurate, she realized. Now that she looked, Trevor appeared to be in worse shape than she did. She knew why she looked the way she did and the reason behind why she hadn’t got much sleep—but why did he look as if he’d spent the night wrestling alligators? Well, he did have a very good reason. Of course, he’d be up all night worrying about his daughter.

  “I guess you didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?” Gabby asked, still looking at his less-than-bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed appearance.

  Rather than answer her question, his natural suspicious nature had him asking, “Why?”

  He hadn’t got any sleep. Lying there in the dark, thinking, had brought out every concern he had, magnifying each one a hundredfold. That, added to his unintentional slip in the truck earlier, had made it all but impossible for him to get more than a few winks in before dawn came rudely bursting into his room, calling for him to get up and resume his search for his missing daughter.

  “Because you look like you were up all night,” Gabby told him simply. Like I was. Out loud she asked, “Were you?”

  He knew that it was pointless to deny that he had been. The proof was obviously there in his face. “I was trying to figure out who was the most likely person to have attempted to kidnap Cheyenne. You realize that if he or they—”

  “Or she,” Gabby interjected. When Trevor looked at her as if she were talking gibberish, Gabby pointed out what she felt was obvious. “The kidnapper could be a woman, you know.”

  “Equal rights?” he asked with a sliver of amusement. These days, a man couldn’t spit without it landing on someone who took great pleasure in insisting that women were still viewed as lesser beings than men. In his opinion, that was a crock.

  Hell, he’d never felt that way himself. If it hadn’t been for a woman—the brutally murdered Faye—he might have come to a sorry end years ago. She’d taken him in and saved him from who knew what fate. He had nothing but the utmost respect when it came to what had once been referred to as the “fairer” sex.

  “Equal opportunity,” Gabby countered, then pointed out, “It doesn’t take much strength to fire a gun or grab a baby and run. And some women can be just as ruthless and coldhearted as men. More.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “You’ve got a point. Anyway, once the kidnapper figures out that the wrong baby was grabbed, he—or she—is sure to be coming back after Cheyenne.” He looked at her pointedly. “You know that, right?”

  She was painfully aware of that, which was why it was doubly important to locate the kidnapper.

  Gabby also noted that Trevor had deliberately not said anything about what would happen to his daughter if and when the mistaken identity was discovered. He was avoiding mentioning that whole unsettling scenario, which could mean only one thing. Trevor had come to care for the little girl a great deal more than he was willing to admit.

  “So,” he concluded, “this threat really won’t be over until we get the son of a bitch.” He caught himself before he began uttering curses in earnest. “I mean—”

  She took his backtracking to mean that he didn’t think the words applied to a female villain. Gabby assured him otherwise.

  “The term works for either gender,” she told him. “It speaks rather well to the lack of character. Okay, I’m ready,” she announced, following him to the door. “There’re just five names left on the list.”

  “The possibilities go beyond the list,” he told her.

  Which meant he intended to interrogate other people. Who? “Go on,” she urged.

  This was just off the top of his head. “There are a few new ranch hands at Dead River, men I don’t know all that well.”

  Gabby couldn’t help wondering if there was anyone on the ranch that Trevor actually did know well—now that Faye was gone. Outside of the beloved nanny, she’d never seen him hanging around with anyone. For the most part, Trevor kept his own company.

  “And there’s the boss’s ex and her two spoiled brats,” he pointed out.

  She loathed all three, as did her sisters, but she didn’t think any of them capable of murder. Or, in the case of Tawny and Trip, of moving very fast. Both siblings were the embodiment of laziness.

  “You think one of them could have taken Avery?” she asked.

  In a heartbeat, he thought. “Wouldn’t put it past them. They all go through money like it was water, and none of them would turn down an easy way to make some more ‘walking around money,’” he told her with conviction.

  Gabby didn’t really have to think about it. He was right. She wouldn’t put it past Darla and her evil spawn to kidnap a baby and hold the child for ransom. Believing them capable of murder, though, was going to take a bit of convincing.

  “Want to question them first?” she asked. “Most likely, they’re still in bed asleep, so they’d be easy to find.”

  Trevor liked finishing what he started. “Let’s talk to the rest of the people on your list first,” he told her.

  “You’re methodical,” she commented, closing the door behind her.

  He didn’t like being pigeonholed. “Just need something to look forward to,” Trevor said pointedly.

  Gabby didn’t get it. “You look forward to questioning them?” She usually went out of her way to avoid contact with any of them.

  “Grilling them,” Trevor corrected.

  Now it was starting to make sense to her. Gabby smiled at him. “I get it.
”

  “I figured you would,” he told her as he led the way to his truck. Under all that optimism was a sharp woman, he thought. He paused before opening the door to his truck. “You have any breakfast yet?” he wanted to know.

  She’d barely had time to come down the stairs before she heard him enter. “I haven’t even had coffee,” she confessed. “You caught me just a minute after I’d gotten dressed.”

  Her words created images in his head without warning, and he caught himself wishing that he’d come over to her side of the mansion just a little bit earlier. Imagining what she’d look like without clothes caused his brain to all but fog up. Only exercising extreme control over his thoughts managed to banish the images—or at least relegate them to some far, dormant region of his mind. A region, he knew, he intended to revisit once all this trouble was behind him.

  “Got some coffee and an egg sandwich for you in the truck,” he told her stiffly. Belatedly, he opened the door on her side.

  Her mouth dropped when she saw the bulking paper bag on her seat. Gabby stared at him as she got in. Picking up the bag, she could feel that what was inside was still warm. “You’re kidding.”

  Her comment didn’t make sense to him. “Why would I kid about that?”

  “You cook?” She could see him, in a pinch, slapping a few basic things together, but an egg sandwich took a little creativity. The type of creativity that she felt he lacked. His skills lay elsewhere.

  “I cook,” he confirmed, then went on to tell her, “But I didn’t make this.” He nodded at the contents of the paper bag.

  As he got in behind the steering wheel, she opened the bag and took out a fried-egg-and-ham combo placed on a toasted muffin. “Mathilda made it,” he told her. “Woman feels really awful about what happened to Faye. They were close.”

  The way he said it—as if it was a revelation—made Gabby look at him quizzically as she automatically fastened her seat belt.

  “You didn’t know that?” she asked.

  He focused only on those things that applied to his job. A friendship between two long-time employees—even if one of those employees was his foster mother—didn’t fall under that category.

  “Guess I didn’t pay any attention to it. Didn’t pay attention to a lot of things,” he added as though he were making a confession.

  Gabby read her own meaning into his words, wondering if he was talking about her. “No time like the present to change that,” she encouraged. Taking an appreciative bite out of the breakfast sandwich he’d given her, she nodded her approval. “This is really good,” Gabby said.

  He said nothing. He was too busy starting up his truck and deciding which of the people left on Gabby’s list they were going to go see first.

  * * *

  One by one the remaining names on the list were crossed out. Each of them offered plausible alibis for the time in question. Checking out the alibis was simple enough.

  It appeared as if the teens Gabby had picked to help because of their potential really would make the most of the opportunity she was sending their way.

  And then there was only one more person to see.

  The last person on Gabby’s list proved to be far more belligerent than the other disadvantaged teens they’d talked to.

  While the others they’d spoken to had all seemed a little defensive, they’d all had alibis to offer, alibis that were easily verified with a minimum of effort.

  Pete Simpson, the last name on the list, seemed determined not to tell them anything beyond “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with any murder. Don’t even know who you’re talking about,” he retorted. “All I know was that I wasn’t anywhere near your precious ranch yesterday,” the tall, thin teen who favored dressing all in black spat out.

  “Then where were you?” Trevor asked. His tone was stern, demanding.

  It must have rubbed Pete the wrong way. “None of your damn business,” he informed Trevor angrily. “Just ’cause I don’t live on a fancy ranch, you think you can pin this all on me?” he demanded hotly. “Well, think again. I’m not going down for this.”

  “We’re not looking to pin anything on anyone, Pete,” Gabby assured him, keeping her voice gentle, soothing. Her eyes were kind when she made contact with his. Her manner was the direct opposite of Trevor’s. She was counting on bringing the teenager around. “Just tell us where you were yesterday morning from about noon to three.”

  It was obvious by the way he watched her that Pete held Gabby in high esteem. But he’d been fighting his own battles since before he’d turned ten and it was hard for him to trust anyone, even someone like Gabby.

  “And if I won’t?” he asked.

  She looked as if it pained her to give him an answer to that question, but she did.

  “Then we’ll have to bring you into the police station and have the chief question you. He doesn’t know you like I do and he won’t be patient, Pete. It’s your choice,” she told him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see how aggravated the whole process was making Trevor. She crossed her fingers in her head, praying that he would keep his temper in check. Otherwise, all bets were off. She didn’t know if she could undo the damage his temper could so easily do.

  “If I tell you,” Pete began cautiously, “are you gonna, you know, have to tell anyone?”

  She sensed that might be a problem and tried to find an acceptable reason why that was. One particular one stuck in her head. “We’ll have to check out your story with the person you name,” she told him, watching his expression.

  “Why? Don’t you trust me?” Pete accused hotly, like someone who anticipated being betrayed—if he hadn’t been already.

  “It’s called verifying your story,” she explained. “We’d have to check it out even if you were the governor of the state.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Pete protested angrily, no doubt feeling singled out.

  “Yes,” Gabby contradicted him firmly, “we would. The law doesn’t let us take anyone’s word for anything without getting some kind of proof.”

  Pete’s scowl was nearly as black as Trevor’s could be. “The law stinks,” he declared.

  “Sometimes it does,” Gabby allowed. Then, to balance it out just as the scales of justice balanced things, she said, “Other times, it protects you.”

  Pete blew out an impatient breath. It was evident that he was one angry young man. But it was equally as evident that he didn’t want to go to jail for something he didn’t do if there was any way to prevent that from happening.

  “She’s got a husband,” he said unexpectedly.

  “You’re talking about your alibi?” Trevor asked the teenager.

  Scowling at him, Pete nodded.

  Gabby placed her hand on his wrist to get his attention.

  She was doing it to create a bond, Trevor thought. Grudgingly, he gave her points for her efforts. She knew how to play this.

  “We won’t talk to her in front of him.” This time, it was Trevor who spoke instead of Gabby. The promise carried more weight, coming from him.

  Pete slanted a malevolent look in his direction. But a string of choice words did not follow. Pete was a foot soldier who wanted to be saved. So, having really no choice, he gave up the name of the woman he’d been seeing behind her husband’s back. “It’s Paula Baker.”

  She’d dealt with Paula once or twice, Gabby recalled. And, if she recalled correctly, Paula had a much-older husband. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was a reason, she mused.

  “Thank you. We’ll be as discreet as possible,” Gabby promised the teenager.

  Confusion slipped over his handsome features. “What does that mean?”

  “That means her husband isn’t going to come and plaster your hide from here to the border,” Trevor told him bluntly. “We’ll make sure he’s not around when we question her.”

  The wary look on the teenager’s face did not abate, but he nodded and muttered a less-than-enthusiastic “Okay” by way of a parting
comment.

  * * *

  An hour later, a very reluctant Paula Baker verified Pete Simpson’s alibi in a voice that was hardly above a whisper despite the fact that her husband was in town, buying feed for their horses.

  Thanking the nervous-looking twentysomething blonde, Gabby and Trevor took their leave.

  “Well, that’s the last of the people on the list,” Gabby said needlessly as she walked back with Trevor to his truck. She could almost feel the minutes ticking away, but she gave no indication of her growing unease. Instead, she asked mildly, “What’s next?”

  “Next we talk to your father’s ex-wife,” Trevor told her.

  She’d been thinking about that, about the possibility that either Darla or her offspring were involved. “My sister said that Darla was at the rodeo.” She’d forgotten about that earlier.

  “Doesn’t mean she couldn’t have slipped away at some point and gone back to the ranch—or hired someone else to kidnap your niece.”

  “No,” Gabby readily agreed. “It doesn’t.” She didn’t want him thinking she was protecting the woman in any way. Who knew, maybe they would get lucky after all. “Okay, let’s go talk to her.”

  “Don’t forget her two brats,” he reminded her. As far as he was concerned, they were all equally suspect.

  Gabby laughed. As if she ever could. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Why does your father let them stay at the ranch?” Trevor asked as he turned the truck around to head toward Dead River.

  That was a question they’d all asked themselves. “Personally, I think she has something on him, something that she threatens to expose if he doesn’t let her go on living there in the style she’s grown accustomed to.” She followed that thought to its logical conclusion. “You know, if that’s the case, Darla really wouldn’t need to kidnap Cheyenne. She’d just use whatever it is that she’s holding over Dad’s head to make him give her more money or whatever it is that she was after.”

  That was true enough. “That still doesn’t mean she can’t get greedier,” Trevor added.