Twelve-Gauge Guardian

by B. J Daniels

  Sliding down in her seat, she peered through the steering wheel as he pulled out and headed toward downtown. Where was he going? She decided to follow at a safe distance and find out.

  She was surprised though when the trail led to the sheriff’s department. If last night’s attack had been a ploy, then this cowboy wouldn’t be going to the sheriff about it. He would want to keep all this as quiet as possible—and handle it himself.

  She pulled over again and dialed information for Winchester Investigations in Denver, Colorado. The phone rang three times before a woman picked up and from the brisk way she answered, Raine guessed it was an answering service.

  “I’m calling for Cyrus Winchester.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not available. Both Cyrus and Cordell Winchester are out of the office. If you’d like to leave a message—”

  Raine hung up. Both Winchesters were private detectives? No way would a P.I. go to the cops unless he was on the up-and-up. So what were they doing in Whitehorse?

  THE WHITEHORSE COUNTY Sheriff’s Department was located along the main drag in an old brick building. As Cordell climbed out of the rental car, he scanned the street.

  In the diagonal parking spaces were a half-dozen trucks in front of the various businesses from a couple of bars and a café to a clothing store, beauty parlor, hardware and a knitting shop. None of the pickups were his brother’s, though.

  Inside the sheriff’s department, Cordell spoke first to the dispatcher.

  “I’ll see if the sheriff is busy,” she said.

  He watched the street while he waited, feeling anxious. His fear was that the woman who’d called herself Raine Chandler would flee town. Her VW had California plates on it. What was she doing in Whitehorse?

  Apparently not just passing through. He’d had the good sense to take down the car’s license plate, assuming it wasn’t stolen. He wouldn’t put anything past the woman given that she was toting a gun and clearly involved in something more than a near hit-and-run.

  “Yes?”

  He turned at the sound of a female voice to find an attractive dark-haired woman in a sheriff’s uniform.

  Her head was cocked to one side as she perused him, her lips turning up into an amused smile.

  “Which one are you?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m McCall Winchester, acting sheriff. I recognized you from some photographs my grandmother showed me of you as a boy.”

  He caught her name and couldn’t help frowning.

  “Trace Winchester’s daughter,” she said.

  He felt his eyes widen.

  She let out a laugh. “Yes, I did turn out to be his daughter no matter what my grandmother said at the time. I’m the true black sheep of the family.”

  Cordell smiled at that. “It’s a family of black sheep.”

  “Why don’t we step back to my office?”

  He followed her down the hallway, surprised that his cousin was the acting sheriff. She took a chair behind her desk and he settled into one of the others facing her. “My brother and I are up here because of our grandmother’s letter.”

  McCall nodded. She didn’t look happy about it.

  “I’m guessing she isn’t dying and wants something from us.”

  “That would be my guess,” McCall agreed.

  Cordell hadn’t come here to talk about his grandmother and didn’t give a damn what she was up to. He was too worried about Cyrus.

  “Do you know about my brother’s accident?” He saw that she didn’t, probably because Cyrus hadn’t had any identification on him. Which meant either the woman took Cyrus’s wallet—or the van driver had stopped long enough to take it.

  “Cyrus was attacked last night behind the Whitehorse Hotel. He’s in a coma at the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’d heard a man had been injured and taken to the hospital but I had no idea it was your brother. The deputy on duty last night talked to the clerk who’d apparently called for an ambulance, but he said the only vehicle in the lot belonged to a woman.”

  Cordell nodded, thinking of the woman he’d tangled with earlier at the hotel. “The woman took my brother’s pickup. She told me a crazy story about almost being run down by a person driving a dark-colored van. Her tire was flat on her VW, she said she was scared and saw Cyrus’s keys on the ground and took off.”

  “So you talked to her?”

  He looked away embarrassed that he’d let her go.

  “I was about to check her identification when she got away.”

  McCall raised an eyebrow at that. “I suppose that explains the blood on your shirt. It’s yours?”

  He looked down, not realizing some had dripped onto his sleeve. “She said her name was Raine Chandler, but I really doubt—”

  “The VW bug with the flat behind the hotel is registered to a Raine Chandler of Los Angeles, California.”

  So she had been telling the truth—at least about that.

  “Do you have some reason to doubt her story?” the sheriff asked.

  Did he? Just a gut feeling that she was leaving out a whole lot of it. “I’m not sure. But with Cyrus in a coma, she is the only one who knows what really happened last night.”

  McCall frowned. “I heard that you and your brother are private investigators, but I hope you’re not planning to take this matter into your own hands again. I’ll put out an APB on her and your brother’s pickup since she apparently didn’t have permission to take his truck and she left the scene of an accident and possible crime last night.”

  “When you pick her up, I want to talk to her.”

  His cousin seemed to consider that. “I think we can work something out. I take it you haven’t seen Grandmother yet.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll let her bring you up to speed on everything that’s been going on out there.” His cousin shook her head as if whatever it was wasn’t good.

  Cordell rose from the chair, not bothering to tell her he had no intention of seeing Pepper Winchester. He had to find out who had injured his twin. He knew it was his way of dealing with Cyrus’s coma. He told himself that by the time he found the bad guys and at least saw that they were behind bars, Cyrus would be all right again.

  “It was nice meeting you.” He reached into his wallet and took out his card. “My cell phone number is on there, but I’ll check back with you.”

  RAINE CALLED MARIAS AGAIN. “I need your computer expertise. Can you check on a couple of private investigators out of Denver? The name is Winchester, Cordell and Cyrus Winchester of Winchester Investigations. See what you can find out.”

  “Anything special you’re looking for?”

  “Why they’re in Whitehorse, Montana, would be helpful.”

  “I see. If you want to hang on… Do you happen to have a license plate number?” Marias asked.

  “I can do better than that. I have Cyrus’s pickup registration.”

  “I don’t want to know, right?”

  “Right.” Raine reached over and opened the glove box. “Hold on, he’s about to move again.”

  “He?”

  “Cordell Winchester.” From down the street, he had just come out of the sheriff’s department. Raine leaned over out of view as she dug through the glove box, found the registration, then peered out cautiously as he climbed into his car.

  Where to now? she wondered as she watched him start his car and pull away from the curb.

  “What information would you like?” she asked her friend, then read what Marias asked for from the registration form as she waited for two cars to go by, then followed Cordell Winchester.

  “Two brothers apparently,” Marias said into the phone. “Same birth dates?”

  “Identical twins.”

  “Really? Handsome?”

  “As sin.”

  “This is a professional request, right?”

  “Strictly business,” Raine said and winced as she remembered the way her fist had connect
ed with his nose. “No love lost between us.”

  “Oh, so that means you’ve ‘met,’” her friend said with a laugh. “I hope it was romantic.”

  “If romance is him holding me down in the middle of a queen-size bed.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Marias quipped. “Hell, sounds damned good now that I think about it. Hmm, that’s interesting.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” Raine asked as she tried to keep Cordell’s rental car in sight.

  “I just did a little familial search. Father’s name Brand. Mother a Karla Rose French. Divorced. Grandfather Call Winchester, deceased. Grandmother Pepper Winchester, still living. Got to be a nickname, wouldn’t you think?”

  “That’s what you thought was interesting?”

  “No, it’s the part where Pepper Winchester’s address is Whitehorse, Montana.”

  Cyrus and Cordell Winchester’s grandmother lived here? Pepper Winchester. “Why does that name sound so familiar?” Raine said more to herself than Marias. Up the street, Cordell Winchester made a quick turn at the corner two blocks ahead of her. He’d tagged her. “Gotta go.”

  CORDELL COULDN’T BELIEVE it. He’d glanced in his rearview mirror and seen his brother’s pickup a dozen car lengths behind him. The woman was following him?!

  He made a quick turn, then another down an alley. Unfortunately, he met a delivery truck coming in and had to back up and take another street.

  Around the next corner…

  No sign of the pickup.

  Cursing under his breath, he searched each side street. She couldn’t have gotten away that quickly. No way.

  Then he got lucky. Down a side street he spotted his brother’s truck go past a few blocks away. She was headed out of town!

  Unfortunately, he had a stop sign, then several cars pulled out that he had to wait for. But the second he’d gotten the chance, he’d gone after her, not surprised to see the pickup hightailing it out on one of the secondary roads south.

  He had to floor the rental car to keep the pickup in sight. Cyrus would have had a heart attack if he saw the way this woman was driving his truck. The thought brought a stab of pain.

  The pavement ran out. Dust boiled up behind the truck. She took a curve, throwing up gravel from the tires. Cordell backed off a little after getting the windshield of the rental car pelted, several bits of gravel pitting the glass.

  He fished out his cell phone to call the sheriff’s department, but found there was no cell phone service. It was just as well. At least now he could say he’d tried to call. The truth was he wanted to talk to Raine Chandler alone. He didn’t want her pleading the Fifth and getting locked away behind bars where he couldn’t get the truth out of her.

  The narrow dirt road wound south over the rolling prairie, a roller coaster ride at this speed. He just prayed they didn’t meet another vehicle coming up the road. There was barely enough room for one car. Going this fast, Raine would never be able to get far enough over to let another car pass.

  At first he was convinced he would come up over a hill and find Cyrus’s pickup wrecked at the bottom. But this apparently wasn’t her first time driving on roads like these. He wondered what part of California she was from that she’d learned to drive on narrow dirt roads rutted with washboard.

  He gave her a little space, confident that with all the dust she was throwing up, she wouldn’t be able to lose him.

  They left Whitehorse long behind them. As the country began to get more rugged, he realized they must be nearing the Missouri Breaks. He’d driven through the Breaks on the way to Whitehorse, crossing the Missouri River as it cut a deep gorge through this desolate, isolated country.

  The country was familiar, too familiar, since he’d spent his first seven years living out here in the middle of nowhere on the Winchester Ranch. Unless he was mistaken, they weren’t that far from the ranch.

  Cordell was beginning to worry he’d never be able to catch her if she cut across to Highway 191. But then he saw the pickup fly over a cattle guard and come down hard, the right rear wheel hitting loose gravel on the edge of the road. He got on his brakes to keep from going airborne off the cattle guard, as well, and saw the rear of the truck fishtailing.

  He could see her fighting to regain control. She almost pulled it off. Then she hit a stretch of deep washboard.

  The pickup tires lost traction and the next thing Cordell knew the truck was headed for the ditch adjacent to the road.

  Fortunately, the ditch wasn’t deep, but it was filled with water and mud which streamed up and over the truck before the vehicle finally came to a stop bogged down in the gumbo. Raine Chandler wasn’t going anywhere.

  Cordell was already out of his car and running toward the pickup before the driver’s-side door swung open. He grabbed her and dragged her out, this time not giving her chance to go for her weapon.

  Taking the gun from her jacket pocket, he stuck her pistol barrel against her temple, forcing her to her knees in the dirt next to the ditch as he held both wrists behind her. “Who put my brother in the hospital?”

  “I told you—”

  “I swear I will drown you in that ditch if you don’t start telling me the truth.”

  He heard her take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  She was shaking, no doubt from the adrenaline of the chase—certainly not from fear of him. There was a determination in her eyes that he’d misjudged before. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “If you let me up, I’ll tell you everything.”

  He let out a bark of a laugh. “You think I’m going to fall for that again?”

  “I already told you. I was crossing the parking lot behind the hotel when someone tried to run me down. Your brother shoved me out of the way, I fell and that’s all I remember. I must have blacked out for a moment because when I came to, your brother was lying there on the ground and I could hear sirens.”

  He pushed her down harder, pressing the gun barrel into her temple. “Why didn’t you stay and tell the sheriff’s deputy what had happened?”

  She shook her head, making him want to throttle her. “I told you. I was scared. I panicked.”

  “Bull. You didn’t want to be involved. Why?”

  “I was scared.”

  He couldn’t imagine anything scaring this woman. He also didn’t believe she’d come back to the hotel this morning to find out Cyrus’s name. So what had she been looking for?

  “Do you have a permit to carry this gun?”

  She hesitated a little too long. “Not in Montana.”

  “Why are you carrying a gun anyway?” he demanded.

  “I live in L.A. You’d carry a gun, too.”

  Cordell didn’t know what to think. Was it possible Cyrus had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was this woman lying through her teeth?

  “Why would someone want to run you down?”

  “How would I know? Maybe they mistook me for someone else. Or maybe it was an accident. Now would you please let me up?”

  “Like your tire on your car just happened to be slashed?”

  He sighed. He was getting nowhere with her. He let go of her hands, standing back in case she came up fighting, which he half expected. To his surprise, she got slowly to her feet.

  “How is your brother?” she asked quietly.

  “He’s in a coma.” Cordell had to look away. Just saying the words made it all too real.

  “I’m sorry.” She sounded surprised and sympathetic.

  “Good,” he said. “Because you’re going to help me find the person who did this to him.”

  “I told you I don’t know who was behind the wheel of that van.”

  That, he thought, might actually be the truth. But he suspected she knew damned well why the person had cut her tire and then tried to run her down. Cyrus couldn’t have gotten downstairs from the fourth floor fast enough, unless he’d seen the man knife her tire and then go wait for her in the van with the motor running.

&n
bsp; Cordell stepped to the open door of the pickup and took out her purse, an overnight bag with a small laptop computer tucked in the side and a large leather satchel. Laying each in the grass, he began to go through them, keeping the gun within reach should he need it.

  “Please, that’s my personal—”

  “Stay right where you are,” he warned her.

  She stopped moving toward him, looking resigned as he opened her purse and quickly searched it. A little over two hundred in cash, most in crisp new twenties probably straight from the ATM machine. A California driver’s license. He glanced at the information on it. Twenty-six.

  Nothing unusual in her overnight bag.

  He was beginning to wonder if she might really be telling the truth when he opened the large leather satchel. “What the hell?”

  Chapter Four

  Raine was still reeling from what he’d told her. His brother was in a coma? She felt sick to her stomach even before Cordell opened her satchel.

  “I asked you what the hell this is,” he demanded, taking a step toward her, shock and disbelief contorting his handsome face.

  “I’m a journalist.” The lie didn’t come easily even though it was the one she’d been using for her cover. She hated lying to him. She’d inadvertently gotten his brother into this. She felt guilty enough. Lying didn’t make it any easier. But she still couldn’t be sure she could trust this man…. “A journalist?” Cordell grimaced as he glanced again at the photographs in the satchel. “This is about some article?”

  “Are you going to question everything I say to you?” she demanded, going on the offensive.

  “I am until I hear something I can believe.”

  She tried a little truth on him. “I’m working on an old missing person’s case, a child who was abducted sixteen years ago from Whitehorse. Her name was Emily Frank.”

  Cordell studied her openly before pulling out the stack of photographs from the abductions. As many times as she had looked at the photos, she never failed to be moved to tears by the piles of charred bones, the rusted fifty-five-gallon barrels where the remains were found or the faces of the children still missing—and presumed dead.