by Diana Palmer
“Don’t think that’s going to be my last word on the subject,” he added. “But you’ll have to go through me to get back to Austin. Even if I have to carry you away on my horse and keep you prisoner at the ranch until you agree.”
She started to argue, when the radio went off, and he had to pause to answer it. Then they stopped for breakfast. But barely ten minutes into it, Brannon got a call on his handheld unit that Holliman had just phoned the Ranger office to make sure Brannon and Josie were coming to see him, and tell them it was urgent. They left in the middle of second cups of coffee.
They made it to old man Holliman’s property in less than twenty minutes, but they weren’t followed. Brannon made a maze of turns and sudden stops, which produced no stealthy companion vehicles of any kind.
“That’s really odd,” he murmured as they pulled up in front of Holliman’s rickety house. “They have to be watching us, but I don’t see the least sign of a tail.” He pulled out his Colt, checked it carefully and reholstered it. He glanced at Josie. “When we get out, walk just beside me and head straight for the front door. I can’t rule out an ambush. These are desperate people.”
“Okay,” she said, with no argument. The one thing she knew for certain was that Brannon would keep his nerve, whatever happened. She’d seen him in action before. There was a certain comfort in knowing that he was quite at home handling deadly force, even if it gave her fears for his own safety.
They moved quickly to the house, and Holliman met them on the front steps. He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink and he was clutching the shotgun he’d presented the first time Josie and Brannon had visited him.
He looked around stealthily and motioned them inside. They’d barely cleared the doorway when he closed and locked the door behind them and leaned back against it with the air of a man who’d just escaped death.
“I didn’t want to have to tell anybody,” he said miserably. “I hoped it would all just go away, that they’d forget about what Dale had. They aren’t going to, are they?” he asked Brannon heavily.
“No,” Brannon replied tersely. “Too many people have already died protecting it. If you know what it is, you have to tell us. Or very likely,” he added evenly, “you’ll be next.”
“I never thought they’d do such things to my sister,” he said, shaking his head. “I was in law enforcement for almost twenty-five years. I never, never, knew anybody, no matter how bad, to torture a helpless old woman.” His eyes closed and he shivered. He opened them again and gave Brannon a miserable glance. “Should have told you in the beginning. I was trying to protect my sister from something even worse than what she’d already suffered. I was wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Dale had a ledger,” he said, watching their faces. “You knew already, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly.
“We knew that it was a ledger,” Josette said. “But we don’t know exactly what’s in it.”
“Proof,” the old man told them, “that someone in the lieutenant governor’s campaign management paid Jake Marsh to deliver votes in his election to the seat. From what Dale said, they also had something on Webb’s wife that was good for a lot of blackmail money. One of the entries in that ledger, Dale said, was for almost a million dollars.”
Brannon caught his breath. “Silvia Webb,” he said, glancing at Josie. “So that was the blackmail connection!”
“Now I don’t know what they had on her,” the old man told him. “The ledger only had payoffs made to Marsh, in fairly large amounts, and to at least two professional election people who produced a misinformation campaign that cost Webb’s adversary the election. It seems they dug up an old scandal in his family and threatened to reveal it in the press. Since it involved his mother directly, he withdrew at the last minute and Webb won the election by default. The ledger has concrete evidence of it.”
“The man Webb fired,” Josie said, thinking aloud.
“Yes, but before Bib knew what the man had actually done,” Brannon said. He looked back at Holliman. “You should have told us this before.”
“Maybe I should,” he admitted. “But I still don’t know where the ledger is,” he added solemnly. “Dale did tell me what was in it, but not what he did with it. I tried to get him to go to the authorities, but he wouldn’t. Even after he was arrested and tried, he wouldn’t. He said that ledger was his insurance policy, that it would take care of him and his mother well into old age. He didn’t even mind going to prison for it, he said, because he knew people who could get him out in a couple of years.” He grimaced. “Guess they did, but not in the way he expected.”
“Did he mention Sandra Gates or Becky Wilson?” Josie asked.
He shook his head. “He only talked about that Mrs. Webb, and he looked funny when he talked about her.”
“Funny, how?” Brannon persisted.
“I don’t know. Reverent almost. As if she meant a lot to—!”
The window near Brannon shattered just as a loud pop broke the old man’s sentence neatly in half.
Cursing, Brannon had his pistol out in a split second, jerked Josie away from the window and Holliman away from the door. “Get down!” he said sharply.
He crouched by the window and moved the faded curtain enough to allow him to peer out. He didn’t see a soul.
“I can still hit what I aim at,” Holliman said. “Where do you want me?”
“Watching that door,” Brannon told him. He gave the old man a level stare. “Don’t let them take Josie.”
“They won’t,” the old man promised him.
“Where are you going?” Josie gasped when he started out of the room.
“Around back. Stay down.”
Brannon went around the corner of the house stealthily, his pistol held securely in both hands. He stopped and closed his eyes, listening…listening.
Of all the things law enforcement had taught him, stealth was the most important. He knew that he could trust his hearing, especially in an area as quiet as this, removed from traffic and street noise.
He heard the rhythmic crunch of leaves nearby, followed by a loud snap. Whoever was walking out there didn’t know woodcraft. In the forest, the first thing that gave away a human presence was a rhythmic vibration. Forest animals never moved that way, even large ones.
There was also a noticeable scent, like perfume. A woman’s perfume. Smell was something else that people unfamiliar with tracking didn’t realize. Scent could travel amazing distances, especially when there was a favorable wind.
Brannon moved back the way he’d come and eased slowly into the big barn out back, careful to disguise his steps and walk softly. He moved behind bales of hay that Holliman probably kept for the single milk cow in the barn.
The cow, sadly, noticed him and mooed, hoping for feed.
There were running footsteps. The scent of the perfume came closer. Seconds later, Silvia Webb ran headlong into the barn with a pearl-handled pistol in her black-gloved hands. She was wearing black slacks, a long-sleeve black silk shirt and her blond hair was enclosed in a black cap. Someone who didn’t know her probably wouldn’t have recognized her. But Brannon knew her perfume, and her build.
“Come out of there!” she raged, looking around with the pistol leveled. “Come out right now!”
Brannon reholstered his pistol and picked up a clod of dirt that was clinging to one of the bales of hay. He waited, counting slowly to twenty.
Then, suddenly, he threw the dirt clod to the side of where Silvia was standing, with force. She whirled when she heard it hit, and Brannon made a dive for her. She never stood a chance. He’d played football in college and the tackle was one of his best skills.
She went down heavily and the pistol flew from her hands as the breath went out of her in a loud rush. Brannon rolled and scooped it up, getting to his feet with lazy grace. By the time Silvia had her breath back, Brannon had the automatic weapon leveled at her chest.
She gasped. It had happened so fast that she didn’t have a prayer. She s
crambled to her feet, still breathing heavily.
Brannon stared at her, his silver eyes glittering. “You. All the time, it was you. Did you kill Garner, or did you get Jennings to do the dirty work for you?”
She blinked. “Whatever are you talking about?” she asked haughtily.
“Give it up, Silvia,” he said coldly. “You can’t talk your way out of this.”
“My fingerprints aren’t on that gun,” she said with an equally cold smile. “You can’t prove a thing!”
“I can if I get my hands on the package Jennings left here,” he assured her with narrow eyes and a mocking smile.
She went very still. “What makes you think it’s here?”
“Why else would you be around if not to retrieve it?” he countered.
She hesitated. She pulled off the cap and shook her head. She smiled hesitantly. “Now, Marc,” she began softly. “Remember me? We’re both on the same side, on Bib’s side. You wouldn’t want your best friend to go to prison?”
“He won’t,” he said with conviction.
“If they get that ledger he will,” she persisted. She moved a step closer. “Listen, nobody has to know. I’ll just get it and leave. You can say that it can’t be found. Nobody will know better!”
“I’ll know better,” he told her coldly.
“It will make Bib look like a criminal of the worst sort,” she said emphatically. “He’ll lose his job. He’ll serve time!”
“Bib fired the man that you hired to shoot down his opponent in the lieutenant governor’s race, Silvia,” he said calmly. “I know his name. I’ll find him. He’ll talk, with the right incentive.”
That was an eventuality she hadn’t been prepared for. Her lips parted. She looked briefly uncertain. Then she straightened. “Well, so what if he does? Bib will be the one who suffers, not me!”
“At least two eyewitnesses saw you go into Mrs. Jennings’s apartment with Jake Marsh,” he said, playing his trump card.
Her mouth flew open. “No! They can’t identify me! I was wearing a hat and a veil…!”
“Were you?”
Her fists clenched at her side. She looked murderous. “I’ll have you killed, too!” she screamed at him. Her eyes were glassy, wild. “I’ll have you and that Langley woman killed, and that stupid old man as well! You’ll all die! I’ll make Jake tie you up and then I’ll use a knife on you. I know how to use a knife. I watched my father cut off my brother’s hand with a hatchet when I was little. My brother was bad. My father said he’d cut my hand off, too, if I didn’t do what he said.” Her eyes glistened with madness.
Brannon took a harsh breath. He didn’t want to hear this. God Almighty, after what Silvia had done, he couldn’t imagine feeling sorry for her!
“He taught me that pain makes you strong,” Silvia said, alone in her own mind. She laughed. “He showed me how to use a knife. I learned to enjoy it… He said I was like him, I was strong, not weak and pitiful like my brother. He said I was pretty and men would do anything for me. We used to go to town, and I’d lure men in and…” She glanced at him. “I killed him, you know. I killed my father. I’d already told Bib I was pregnant, so he’d marry me. He worked for old Garner, and Garner had millions. My father said we’d all be rich, but he was greedy, so I pushed him headfirst into the old well. They didn’t find him for several days. I said he went to visit my cousin. When they found him, I cried and cried, and everybody felt sorry for me. Nobody thought I did it.”
She laughed. “He would have been proud, wouldn’t he, Marc? He taught me.” She blinked. “Bib doesn’t know where I am. I told him I was shopping. He always believes me.” She frowned. “Jake thinks I don’t know what I’m doing, but I do. I killed old man Garner because he knew Dale had taken that ledger. I hit him with the blackjack and then laid it in Dale’s car. Dale and I were having an affair, so I had to get rid of him, or Bib might have wanted to divorce me. But Dale didn’t mind going to prison if he got paid off, so I sneaked money out of Bib’s account, to keep Dale quiet. I didn’t know about the photographs,” she added with a look of bridled fury. “Then he got really greedy and started making all sorts of threats about publishing what he had on me and Bib. I had Sandra get him transferred and onto a work detail, then I bribed people to let him escape. He promised he’d bring the ledger and some pictures he’d had taken of him and me together…” She shook her head. “So I had to kill him, to protect myself. But the joke was on me, because the ledger he’d brought was blank and there were only two photos and no negatives.
“I had to find the ledger, you know. That old woman wouldn’t talk, no matter what I did to her. Jake had gone into the bedroom to look for that ledger. He saw her and he hit me. He never hit me before. He said he wasn’t going to get in any deeper, and he made that York man go away, too. He hired York to kill Dale, but I didn’t need anybody to do things for me. I can do my own dirty work, like my father did. That’s why I told him I’d do old man Holliman. I didn’t need York to find that ledger. I’m going to find it. It’s here. It must be here!”
She was stark-staring mad, Brannon thought incredulously. It was amazing that nobody had ever noticed and gotten help for her, before she snapped.
He moved closer to her, aware of footsteps coming closer. He took the cuffs off his belt and linked her hands behind her. She didn’t even struggle when he snapped them on her wrists.
“Oh, thank God!” Josie said from the doorway when she saw that Marc was all right. She blinked at his captive. “Silvia?” she exclaimed, stunned.
The blonde turned, glaring at her. “I’m the wife of the lieutenant governor,” she said haughtily. “No one calls me by my first name unless I give them permission.”
Brannon gave Josie a long, meaningful stare.
“Of course, Mrs. Webb,” Josie said, humoring her. She frowned at Brannon. He was looking around the barn with curious intensity.
“The ledger,” he murmured. He looked at his prisoner. “Silvia, is it in here? Do you know?”
“Dale wouldn’t tell me,” Silvia said vacantly. “I went to bed with him and he still wouldn’t. Then Dale had a private detective follow us and take pictures,” she added. “I didn’t know until he showed them to me. He said he’d give them to the press if I didn’t get him the money he wanted. That he’d turn the ledger over to the police. It would all have been over, don’t you see?” she asked earnestly. “Bib would have lost his job and I wouldn’t have been special anymore. We have to protect our family name. My grandmother always said so. She used to cry all the time after my brother died. Daddy killed him, too, you know. He hit him too hard. He was sorry, but we had to make sure nobody knew. So we threw him in with the horses. We said he was careless and got trampled.” She smiled at Brannon. “I like to ride horses. Dale and I used to come up here and ride when the old man was visiting Dale’s mother. He had this special saddle, handmade.” She frowned. “I won’t get to go to the governor’s ball this year,” she said suddenly, her face falling.
Brannon and Josie were exchanging gazes. Brannon turned. The saddlebags. Old man Holliman had mentioned them. He spared an absent thought for where the old man was, but he was too intent on those saddlebags to concentrate.
He looked against the wall, where the saddles were kept. There were only two. One was old and stained dark from use. A newer one with fancy tooling and blackened silver accessories had a double saddlebag, also handmade.
On a hunch, Brannon pulled the saddlebags down and opened the first one. It was empty. It was probably a futile hope, he thought as he unbuckled the second one.
Then he felt it. A thick package, the size of a legal file, encased in plastic. He brought it out. There was a manila envelope inside a firmly closed flat plastic bag.
He glanced at Josie.
She moved to join him as he unzipped the plastic bag and pulled out the envelope. While Josie held the bag he opened the envelope. Inside were embarrassing color photographs, very explicit, of Dale Jennings and Silvi
a Webb. Brannon quickly slipped them back into the envelope and pulled out a small ledger. Tucked inside were receipts and at least two handwritten notes, one with Jake Marsh’s signature. There were four check stubs, with Silvia Webb’s signature on them. And there, in black, was every transaction made by Marsh’s associate who’d used blackmail in the election to get Bib Webb’s opponent to drop out of the race, complete with names and addresses and dates and amounts. It was dynamite. It was evidence that could send people to prison.
“Bib won’t like it,” Silvia said with a vacant smile. “He’ll lose his job.”
“I don’t think so,” Brannon said coldly.
“Jake thinks he will. Don’t you, darling?” Silvia said suddenly, looking at the wide entrance to the barn.
“Yes, I do. Thanks for finding the evidence for me, Brannon” came a slow, dark voice from the doorway.
Brannon and Josie turned to find a handsome man in his late thirties holding an automatic weapon.
“Let’s have it,” he told Brannon, holding out a gloved hand. “Now.”
Brannon let it fall to the ground and both hands went to his sides. “You come get it,” Brannon replied.
“I’ve got the gun, Brannon!” Marsh said.
Brannon didn’t look at Josie, but he spoke to her. “Move away, Josie. Now!”
Josie wasn’t inclined to argue, even though she was afraid for him. She moved beside Silvia, her eyes wide with fear when she saw Brannon’s posture alter just slightly. Surely to God, he wasn’t going to try to outdraw a man with a cocked, leveled automatic pistol…!
Brannon was watching the other man. He knew, as Josie didn’t, that Marsh would pull the trigger. The man had too much to lose to leave witnesses. Like Silvia, he wouldn’t hesitate at gunning down anyone who threatened his freedom. This was going to be a last-ditch stand, and it was a certified long shot that he could draw and fire before Marsh pulled that trigger. But he was adept with his pistol, and he wasn’t afraid of bullets. It was the only chance he was likely to get, and he wasn’t wasting it.
