High-Caliber Cowboy

by B. J Daniels

  The answering machine started to pick up. “Mason, it’s Niles. I know you’re there. You have to get up to Brookside. You have to stop—”

  Her father grabbed the phone from her before French could finish.

  Anna stumbled backward toward the door, tears burning her eyes. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” Mason cried. “I told you the honest-to-God truth. You have to believe me.”

  She was shaking her head, moving away from him, wanting to run. For a while there, she’d believed him. “Where is the private investigator I hired? What did you do with her? Is that why you have to get up to Brookside? Who is it you have to stop? Lenore Johnson, the woman I hired? Or me?”

  “Chrissy, listen to me.” He slammed down the phone and grabbed her arm. She tried to break free.

  She heard a sound behind her and spun around to see Brandon framed in the doorway.

  “Let her go,” Brandon ordered, and reached for her.

  “I could have you arrested,” Mason snapped at Brandon, but he let go of Anna. She grabbed up the set of keys from her father’s desk, the keys to his SUV.

  Brandon pulled her to him, drawing her close, his arm around her as they backed out of the room. “Don’t try to stop us.”

  “Chrissy, if you leave here, I can’t protect you. I’m afraid of what Dr. French will do once he knows that I told you everything.”

  * * *

  BRANDON PUT HIMSELF between Mason VanHorn and his daughter. “I’m taking her to Cash,” he said. “I’ve already called him. He knows that you had me abducted. He knows Anna is here. If I don’t call him back soon, he will come out here with the state police.” It was all a lie, but one that seemed to be working.

  VanHorn stumbled back, dropping into his chair, his face slack with defeat.

  “She’ll be safe with the sheriff,” Brandon said.

  “It’s over.”

  “Yes,” he said, not looking at either of them as they left.

  Brandon rushed Anna out the front door to her father’s expensive SUV parked outside. She slid into the passenger seat as he swung behind the wheel and started the motor.

  He’d expected Mason to send out an alert to his men but as Brandon spun the SUV around and headed down the ranch road, he didn’t see anyone coming after them.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer. One look at her face told him she was far from all right.

  When he reached the highway, he headed toward Antelope Flats. The thunderstorm raced across the landscape, clouds low and dark, lightning flickering and thunder a drum in the distance.

  She filled him in, including Dr. French’s phone call.

  “I lied about calling Cash, but I have to now,” he said to Anna, afraid she might want to argue.

  She didn’t. She nodded, still looking numb, her face pale.

  He stopped at the phone booth in front of the Decker Post Office. Decker, Montana, consisted of the post office and a couple of houses. At one time, there’d been a bar but it had closed years ago.

  “I’ll be right back.” He got out and stepped into the phone booth as the first drops of rain began to fall. They pelted the phone booth. Brandon looked through them to the empty highway, afraid Mason would have a bunch of his cowboys hot on their trail.

  “Brandon?” Cash said the moment he came on the line. “What the hell is going on? Frank Yarrow called me wanting to know if my family was still interested in buying Brookside. He said he gave you a tour.”

  “It’s a long story. Where are you?”

  “The dispatcher patched you through. I’ve got a lead on Lenore Johnson.”

  “At Brookside?” Brandon asked in surprise.

  “I’m not sure how you’re involved in all this—”

  “Cash, Mason VanHorn just got a call from a Dr. French. Something is going on up there. I’ll tell you everything when I see you.”

  “Stay away from Brookside. There have already been two murders—”

  “Two? I saw the story about Emma Ingles—”

  “There was another one twenty years ago in Room 9B.”

  All the air rushed from Brandon’s lungs. “9B? That was Helena VanHorn’s room. We’ll tell you everything when you get to Brookside.” He hung up before his brother could argue.

  * * *

  “WE’LL TELL YOU everything? Brandon!” Cash swore as he sped out of town, siren and lights blaring, headed for Brookside, wondering how deeply his brother was involved in this.

  Lightning flickered on the horizon as dark clouds swept toward him. He raced down the empty highway in the growing darkness as rain pelted the windshield as hard as gravel. He turned on the wipers as the storm became a downpour and visibility dropped.

  Just a few miles outside of town, he saw a set of headlights flash on from a side road. Even with the rain, Cash knew the driver had to see him coming with the lights and siren on.

  The next instant, the car pulled out in front of him. He swerved, realizing too late that the driver had pulled out on purpose. The patrol car went into a skid on the wet pavement.

  It happened fast. One moment he was on the highway, the next, he was sliding across the pavement, hitting the graveled edge of the road and was airborne.

  * * *

  BRANDON HAD JUST climbed back into the SUV when he saw a set of headlights in his rearview mirror. A vehicle was coming up the highway moving fast. He recognized the rig as it sped past. Red’s pickup. Only Red wasn’t driving. Mason VanHorn was.

  Mason didn’t seem to see them, his attention on the highway at the high speed he was traveling.

  “That was my father,” Anna said, sitting up to stare after him. She looked over at Brandon. “Follow him.”

  Brandon nodded, pretty sure he knew where VanHorn was headed. The same place Cash was. Brookside.

  “I believed him,” Anna said as Brandon took off after the pickup. She shook her head. “I actually believed him. Until Dr. French called.”

  “Cash is on his way to Brookside. He said he had a lead on Lenore Johnson.”

  “Oh, my God!” Anna cried. “That must be why Dr. French was calling my father, telling him he had to come to Brookside. He said, ‘You have to stop—’ Stop something. Or someone?”

  * * *

  THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT patrol car slammed down, tires digging into the side of the ditch, and rolled in a shower of mud and rain and weeds.

  Cash lost track of time as he crashed down into the deep ditch beside the highway. He’d lost his sense of direction as the car rolled. He wasn’t sure which side was up or down.

  Then everything stopped. He hung from his seat belt for a moment in stunned silence. He was alive. The patrol car had landed upside down in the ditch. He’d been wearing his seat belt and the airbag had deployed. Nothing hurt, at least that he could feel.

  He unhooked his seat belt and dropped to the roof of the car. For a moment he just lay there, trying to get his bearings. He tried the door. It opened about ten inches before getting stuck in the mud. He reached over and tried the passenger side door. It swung open and he crawled out into the rain and darkness. He couldn’t see the other car, only the glow of the headlights above him on the road.

  He hadn’t hit the other car but he couldn’t be sure the other driver hadn’t wrecked, as well. Or was the driver just waiting to finish the job he started?

  Cash drew his pistol and started up the steep embankment. It was slick and he had to scramble in the wet, loose dirt. He didn’t see the man until he was almost on top of him.

  At the rim of the embankment, Cash blinked through the rain and saw the large dark figure for just an instant before he saw the gun in the man’s hand. The man seemed just as surprised to see him and drew back his boot, kicking at Cash’s head.

  Cash managed to dodge the worst of the man’s kick, catching a glancing blow to the shoulder. But his pistol went flying as he fell backward down the embankment.

  A b
ullet zinged past as he tumbled back to the bottom of the ditch. Scrambling to his feet, he ducked behind the patrol car and reached inside for his shotgun as a shot ricocheted off the roof.

  Glancing back up toward the highway, he saw the man silhouetted against the blurred headlights. He hadn’t gotten a good look at him at the top of the embankment. Just a feel for the man’s size—and intent.

  The man hadn’t wanted to kill him or he would have shot him—not kicked him when he had the chance. Did that mean he was only trying to detain him? Is that why he was taking potshots at him, trying to hold him down here? Until what? Until someone took care of Lenore Johnson at Brookside?

  Cash swore and looked down the road a ways to where the embankment wasn’t quite as steep. He waited after a bolt of lightning flashed above the highway for the darkness that followed, and then took off running.

  Scrambling up the embankment, he ran to the man’s car and hunkered down next to it. The car was a black SUV, some foreign job. The side was scraped, as if the driver had already been in an accident.

  The man was still standing at the edge of the embankment looking down. Thunder boomed overhead. Cash saw the man jump back as if he thought he’d been shot at. He turned and started toward his car.

  Cash waited until he was close enough, then rose up, pointing the shotgun at the man’s chest. “Freeze!”

  The man raised his gun and fired a wild shot. Cash pulled the shotgun’s trigger. Light flared in the rain. The man dropped to the wet pavement.

  Cash moved quickly to him, kicking away the man’s weapon before he looked down at his face.

  A pair of vacant eyes stared blankly up at him. “Josh Davidson?” Why the hell would the orderly from the clinic run him off the road and try to keep him from getting to Brookside?

  * * *

  BRANDON DROVE the narrow road up the mountain, his headlights cutting a swath through the low dark clouds of the storm. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed on its heels. He was already jumpy after the last time they’d come up this road. For all he knew, Dr. French or VanHorn might be waiting just around the next corner. Only this time, French or VanHorn might succeed in forcing them over the cliff.

  Anna sat staring ahead, her hands clenched in her lap. He could see the fear on her face. What would they find at Brookside? He hated to think.

  As he rounded the curve, Brookside rose up like a monster on the dark horizon.

  Several large raindrops splattered against the windshield. Brandon jumped, his nerves raw. The rain came hard and fast, blurring everything as he pulled up to the front door—directly behind Red’s pickup, which Mason VanHorn had been driving.

  The driver’s-side door of the pickup was standing open, Mason no longer behind the wheel. Something large and dark moved through the rain, disappearing into the inky black shadow of the building.

  There were no other vehicles in the lot. No sign of Cash’s patrol car. He should have been here by now. Brandon realized with a start that something had to have happened to keep him from beating them here.

  Anna let out a cry. “Did you see that? I saw someone at a window on the third floor.”

  He looked up through the windshield in the direction she pointed. He saw nothing but darkness.

  “I’m going in,” Anna said, and reached for her door handle.

  “We should wait for Cash,” Brandon said beside her.

  She looked over at him. “He should have been here by now. Lenore’s in there. I can’t let him kill her.” She opened her door and slipped out. She didn’t even feel the rain as she ran toward the front steps.

  She wished she had a weapon, anything. But there was little chance for finding something she could use in the rainy darkness. She could hear Brandon behind her, but she didn’t look back as she topped the steps and felt her breath catch.

  From inside the dark building came the clank of an elevator door opening.

  A bolt of lightning cut a brilliant white ragged tear in the sky illuminating Brookside. In that split second of blinding light, she saw that the front doors stood open. Clearly someone had been expected. Her father? Or her and Brandon?

  Anna felt Brandon’s hand on her arm. He pointed to the front doors. She could see the worry on his face. It matched her own. But she couldn’t wait. She had to go inside. Her father was in there. With Dr. French? And what about Lenore?

  Anna had gotten the woman into this. She had to help her. If it wasn’t too late.

  She stepped through the double doors into the entryway. The cold silence of the building settled over her. The office was dark. So was the hallway past it. Her gaze fell to the worn linoleum floor. Wet footprints.

  The footprints were headed in the opposite direction—not toward the office corridor—but toward the wing for the criminally insane.

  “Wait,” Brandon whispered next to her.

  She turned to watch him go into the office. He came back out with a large heavy-duty flashlight. He flicked it on. The battery was low, the light dim. He shone it down the hallway past the office. Empty.

  When he shone it the other way, the light caught the wet footprints before shining on the open double doors of the wing that had once housed the violent, the criminally insane. Her mother, Anna thought with a horrible jolt. The light illuminated the number on the door of 9B.

  Past it, the corridor was pitch-black. She thought she heard footfalls somewhere in the building, the echo making it hard to determine from where. But all her instincts told her that the figure she’d seen in the third-floor window was now on this floor.

  She started in that direction when she heard a door open behind her and the creak of a sole on the floor. She spun around as a slight dark figure came stumbling out of the ladies’ restroom, a piece of galvanized pipe clutched in both hands. Even as dark as it was, Anna could see that the woman’s eyes were wild and she was breathing hard.

  Brandon started to launch himself at the woman. “It’s Lenore!” Anna cried.

  Lenore only got a few steps before her legs gave out under her. Brandon caught her before she hit the floor, gently laying her down and prying the pipe from her fingers.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered, and glanced at Anna.

  “She looks like she’s been drugged.”

  “Have…been…drugged,” Lenore slurred and tried to focus her gaze as Anna knelt beside her.

  “Lenore, it’s me, Anna Austin. You’re all right now. You’re safe.”

  Lenore shook her head. “Dr. French…” She closed her eyes, licked her lips and whispered, “Still here.”

  Anna looked down the hallway in the direction from which Lenore had come, then shifted her gaze to the wet footprints. They had to be her father’s. Then where was Dr. French?

  Anna picked up the pipe Brandon had taken from Lenore and the flashlight. She rose and shone the light in the direction of 9B. The wet footprints glistened in the light. She moved toward the wing for the criminally insane.

  “Anna, wait. Don’t.”

  She barely heard Brandon’s words.

  The chain was no longer on the doors to the wing, but hanging down, the padlock on the floor.

  She stepped through the doors. Ahead, the wet footprints disappeared at Room 9B. The flashlight went out. She shook it. The light flickered on. She stepped to the open door of 9B. The flashlight went out again.

  She stopped, swallowed back the fear that made her palms damp, her heart a thunderous ache in her chest, and took a step into the dark room. Her ankle brushed up against something. Her heart stopped.

  She shook the flashlight. The light flickered on and she let out a cry as she stared at the body at her feet.

  * * *

  CASH HAD no choice. He rolled Josh Davidson’s body off the road and, taking the man’s keys, ran to the SUV.

  Because of the isolation in this part of the state, Cash didn’t have a full-time deputy. Didn’t really need one. The few instances he’d needed help, he’d call the state investigators in Billings
and they’d sent down someone.

  Unfortunately, Billings was two hours away. No time for anyone to drive down. He was on his own.

  The front of the vehicle had been badly crushed. One headlight was cocked at an odd angle. What the hell had Davidson hit? Cash didn’t want to think.

  He leaped behind the wheel and started the car, glad to hear the engine turn over on the first try. He didn’t know how much time he’d lost. His greatest fear was that Brandon would reach Brookside before he did. Lenore’s call scared him. Someone had been holding her at the old mental institution. But what scared him the most was the way her call had been cut off.

  The rain fell harder, the sky was even darker, as he turned onto the dirt road to Brookside. There were other tracks. Brandon’s. But also several other vehicles’. Cash swore and gave the SUV more gas, fear driving him up the mountainside.

  He just prayed it wasn’t too late.

  * * *

  ANNA HEARD Brandon’s running footfalls behind her. She turned away from the body on the floor.

  Brandon took the flashlight from her. “Oh, God,” he said as he shone the light on the body.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him kneel down to check for a pulse. “He’s still warm. He hasn’t been dead long.”

  Anna looked again at the body, unable to hide her shock. “It’s Dr. French,” she said, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. But how could that be? If he was the killer… His eyes bulged, his face was blue, a rope was tied so tightly around his neck that it cut into his flesh. There were horrible scratches on his throat where he’d fought to tear the rope away to no avail.

  “My father killed him,” Anna cried.

  Brandon put his arms around Anna. She pressed her face to his chest. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  Lenore had joined them. She stumbled up and leaned against the door for support. “We have to get out before he comes back.” Her eyelids were heavy and it looked as if it took everything in her to stay on her feet.

  Brandon released Anna to shine the flashlight on the body. “Dr. French is dead. He won’t be coming back.”

  Lenore looked down at the body lying just inside Room 9B. She blinked as if trying to focus. “That’s not him.”