Bestselling Authors Collection 2012

by Trish Morey; Day Leclaire; Natalie Anderson; Brenda Jackson; Ann Voss Peterson

  “And that’s why everyone in the county knows about it. Scratch that. After the explosion and corruption scandal, everyone in the country has probably heard about it by now.”

  She sure hoped not, but she couldn’t deny that things had gone just about as wrong as they possibly could. “They don’t know what the coalition is about. They don’t understand what a beneficial deal this could be for everyone involved.”

  Again with the eye roll.

  Sometimes she swore Russ was the baby of the family and not Timmy. God knew, her youngest brother was always thinking of others. Even when he was the one who was hurt, he was trying to take care of her. He was a caring kid. It was Russ who acted like a teenager, from his hormone-based lust for anything with breasts to his immature attitude and temper.

  She took another deep breath. By the end of this conversation, she’d probably be hyperventilating just from her efforts to hold on to her cool. “On the other hand, there’s also opposition. Someone or many someones are doing everything they can to prevent the Coalition of Island Nations from agreeing to a compact. We believe one of those parties is the Russian mob.”

  “And that’s Tanya.” He shook his head. “She’s a waitress, Callie. She likes to hang out and hear bands. She’s not some kind of spy.”

  “Open your eyes, Russ. She arrived in Dumont right about the time I was brought into this deal. She happens to latch on to you as well as two different men who work security for Efraim. And last night, we heard her speaking Russian to someone in the kitchen and then two men were waiting for us in the parking lot when we left. They chased us, Russ. We’re lucky we got away.”

  He stared at the dirty pine shavings on the stall’s floor, a muscle working along his jaw.

  Callie waited a long time for him to speak, the minutes ticking by like hours, marked only by the buzz of flies, the whistle of the wind outside and the deep tones of Dale Watson emanating from the barn radio. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t know if he was struggling to process all she’d told him or just clamming up, but her patience was gone. “What are you thinking?”

  “That she couldn’t be a Russian.”

  “After all you just heard?”

  “Being able to speak Russian doesn’t mean anything. You speak Russian.”

  It was true. So did Efraim. “I speak a lot of languages. Russian is only one. And I’m not actually fluent.”

  “So maybe that’s the case with her, too. Only she’s better at it than you are.”

  “You’re not facing the facts, Russ.”

  His shoulders slumped. For a guy who was reluctant to ever admit he was wrong, it was as good as a white flag.

  Callie felt bad for her brother. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “Stay away from her. Don’t trust her.”

  “You told Dad all this?”

  She’d spoken to their father last night after George and Mercy had fished them from the creek. “I warned him to watch out for people coming to the ranch. But I didn’t put the rest together until morning.” Actually Efraim had figured out that Tanya must have been trying to get to her through Russ. But she didn’t think pointing out who the realization had come from would help Russ accept it.

  “I was wondering why he insisted we carry guns with us while we were doing chores this morning.”

  “That’s Dad.”

  “Yeah.” He threw the fork in the wheelbarrow and trucked the whole thing to the next stall.

  Callie watched her little brother move. He was so strapping and headstrong that it was easy to forget he was only a few years older than Timmy. But where Timmy and she had a bond, Russ always seemed to resent her a little. As if he remembered their mother a bit better than Timmy did and resented Callie for not being her.

  Callie pulled in a deep breath of pine shavings and the light ammonia smell of used stalls. When she was a kid, she’d worked side by side with Brent and Joe every day. Sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they’d swap nothing but silence, but they’d built a bond by just sharing the same space and the same workload. It had helped them get through the inevitable frictions that came with such different personalities living under one roof.

  She stepped away from the stall aisle and ducked into a small room where they kept horse feed and other gear. There had to be another manure fork in here somewhere. She’d help Russ for a while, just work next to him. Maybe it wouldn’t make things better, but it sure couldn’t hurt.

  Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting dust motes swirling in the air. She stepped toward the shovel rack behind the feed.

  And stopped dead.

  Leaning against the wall behind the oat bin she could see the barrel of a rifle. A shiver of recognition froze her blood.

  Heart thumping so hard that she felt like she’d break a rib, she pushed behind the oat bin and picked it up. The stock was dust-covered, but the brass plaque still gleamed in the rays streaming in through the window. Wind River County Champion Marksman, Junior Women’s Division.

  Callie’s hands began to shake. She carried the rifle out into the aisle and held it up for Russ to see. “Why is this here?”

  Russ shrugged. “Where else would it be?”

  If he was acting, he was doing a pretty good job. “I lost it yesterday. Out on the BLM. Whoever shot Fahad Bahir took it from Efraim.”

  Russ looked up from the manure cart. He studied her, then the rifle, his brows dipped low. “I found it out there. This morning.”

  “And you hid it behind the oat bins?”

  He glanced around. “No, I was feeding the horses. I set it there. Must have forgotten it.”

  “You fed the horses after you rode out on the BLM?” Callie shook her head. Russ wasn’t making any sense, and she was afraid to think too much about why.

  He shook his head. “I thought you’d be happy to have it back.”

  “Did you really find it, Russ?” Callie’s insides were now shaking so badly that she could hardly stand. Her knees felt uncertain, as if they could collapse at any moment.

  “Yeah. Of course. Where else do you think it came from?” His lips flattened into a bloodless line. “You think…you think it was me who shot that guy, don’t you?”

  She didn’t. Did she? “No, I don’t think you’re a murderer, Russ. Not on your own. But this isn’t adding up. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her. A flush worked its way up his neck and colored his cheeks. “You come in here warning me that Tanya’s using me, like I’m some idiot, and now you think she talked me into killing a man or something? You think I’m led around that easily?”

  “No.” And she didn’t. He couldn’t. “But I need to know the truth.”

  He waved his arm as if clearing the air of her words. “I told you. I found it. I thought you might want it, so I brought it back. Is that a crime?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why all these questions?”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. She didn’t know what was going on in her brother’s head, but she knew one thing. Russ wasn’t telling the truth.

  A horrible sinking feeling settled in her stomach. “Whoever shot Fahad committed murder, Russ.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “The sheriff, he’s investigating.”

  “So? What does that have to do with me?”

  “Whoever did this…whoever shot Fahad…he needs to turn himself in.”

  “You do think I did it, don’t you? Let me guess, I did it because I’m so in love with a girl I just met in a bar? And I’m such an idiot that she talked me into working for the Russian mob?”

  The whole thing did sound far-fetched, ridiculous. But if it wasn’t true, at least Callie had learned something that was. Her brother knew something he wasn’t telling her. And she had a horrible feeling that it had something to do with Fahad’s death. “I have to go.”

  “Running back t
o your sheik?”

  “Tell Timmy I’ll be back to check on him, okay? And please think about what I said.”

  “Callie, you think you know everything, but you don’t. You don’t know anything at all.”

  She hoped he was right. But she had the feeling she’d discovered far too much.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jake Wolf was about as forthcoming as Efraim had feared. Either the man hadn’t found anything of value in his search of Fahad’s room, or he wasn’t about to tell. Efraim guessed it might be a little of both. “Fahad was my blood. I was responsible for him being out in the badlands. I need to know who killed him. Surely you can understand that, Sheriff.”

  “I understand.” Jake Wolf paced toward the door. “And I’m working on finding those answers for you.”

  “I don’t want you to find them for me. I want to help. I want justice.”

  Hand on knob, Wolf turned to face him. “Justice is my job, Sheik. It is the job of a district attorney and a defense attorney, a jury and a judge. It does not belong to the individual. I will give you answers when I know more.”

  Too bad Efraim didn’t plan on waiting around for the sheriff to feel like giving him answers. He wanted answers now. He’d answered a slew of questions from the sheriff, now he had some of his own. “Have you searched Rattlesnake Badlands?”

  “A team has been out there since early this morning.”

  “A team? What does that mean?”

  “Experts, sir.”

  “Let me guess, their job is justice.”

  Wolf gave him an emotionless stare. “I must go.”

  Efraim held up a hand. He shouldn’t have been flip. Not when he had more questions to ask. “One more thing, Sheriff. Please.”

  Wolf nodded.

  “Were there any witnesses to the explosion?”

  “None who have come forward, no.”

  “None who have come forward,” Efraim repeated. “But that doesn’t mean that there are no witnesses out there.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” The sheriff watched him. His eyes showed nothing, but Efraim could imagine he was trying to figure out why he’d ask such a question and if Efraim knew something he didn’t.

  Ever since Efraim had seen the message on Cloud Nine, he’d debated about showing it to the sheriff. He still hadn’t decided what he should do.

  “I really must be going,” the sheriff finally said. The sunlight streaming in the windows caught his belt buckle. It looked much like Efraim’s dagger buckle, the small dagger now lost, the buckle itself blank and worthless. But instead of housing a weapon, the sheriff’s depicted a howling wolf.

  Another reminder of how Efraim had hoped Wolf would be a kindred spirit. Another reminder of how that hope had never borne fruit.

  At least the sheriff had returned his pistol to him. Its weight around his waist felt reassuring, and he needed all of that feeling he could get right now. And judging from what the sheriff had told him, the FBI seemed to be willing to leave him alone. For now.

  He moved to the door and opened it for the lawman. “I will be waiting for those answers, once you find them.”

  The sheriff stepped out into the hall and was gone, leaving Efraim to stew in his own thoughts. Only a day had passed since Fahad had been shot, but it felt like a week. It felt like a lifetime. When Callie had been with him this morning, she’d soothed his frustrations. Now that he was alone, he felt as if he was jumping out of his skin. He couldn’t wait until she returned. He needed to tell her about the witness in the message. He needed her to help him figure out what it meant.

  He needed her.

  There was a time when that realization would have disturbed him. Now it made him smile. He didn’t know if he was quite ready to tell Callie he was falling in love with her. They had known each other such a short time. But he felt certain it was true. He was falling in love with Callie McGuire. And he couldn’t wait for her to walk back through his door. He couldn’t wait to tell her his thoughts and take her back into his bed. He couldn’t wait to show her how much he cared.

  When he finally heard her knock on the door and open it, he didn’t have a chance to do any of those things.

  She looked up at him, her body shaking, her eyes red from tears. She set her truck keys on the bookshelf and stood with her hands hanging useless at her sides, as if she had no idea what to do next.

  He folded her in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  She pressed her cheek to his chest. For a long while, she didn’t answer. She just clung to him as if she’d never get the chance to hold him again.

  Finally she drew a shuddering breath and looked up at him. “It’s Russ. I think he might be hiding something.”

  Russ. The second-to-youngest brother. The one dating Tanya. “Something? Like what?”

  She shook her head. “We need to call the sheriff, turn everything we know over to him.”

  The sheriff. Efraim had had enough of the sheriff and the way the man allowed information to flow only one way. “You need to tell me what happened, Callie.”

  Tears swamped her eyes. “My dad. He’s out stringing fence. I need to talk to him first.”

  “Callie.”

  “Please, Efraim. I can’t.”

  “You can’t be honest with me?” A tremble centered in his chest.

  “I just have to…I have to find out more.”

  “I asked you if you trusted your family. You said yes.”

  “I do trust them.”

  “But you learned something. Something that alarms you. What did you find out, Callie? Tell me, now.”

  “It’s not like that.” She shook her head and pulled away from him. “There has to be a reason. Something we don’t know.”

  Cool air settled around him where her warmth used to be. “Did one of your brothers shoot Fahad?”

  “No.” Her voice wavered.

  His throat went dry. This couldn’t be happening. Not with Callie. And yet he could feel her pulling away. Just as she’d pulled away physically. She was withdrawing, circling the wagons and leaving him on the outside of that circle. “I trusted you. I chose to believe you over Kateb, my own blood.”

  “And you can still trust me, Efraim. You have to.”

  He held on to her words. He wanted to trust her. “Then I will ask again. Did one of your brothers shoot Fahad?”

  “I don’t know.” She gulped air and pushed on. “But whatever happened, it’s not like we thought.”

  “Was it Brent?”

  “Fahad said something before he died.”

  Efraim leaned forward. “Fahad?”

  “He wished both my family and yours be destroyed.”

  He shook his head. She’d told him Fahad had said ugly things about her. But she’d left out this. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “I thought he was delirious and didn’t know what he was saying. But it was like he was cursing us.”

  He still didn’t get it. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because it’s happening. Don’t you see it? If we don’t take this slow, learn what really happened, why it happened…”

  “Why it happened? Fahad is dead. Murdered.”

  “That’s not right. He wouldn’t do that. There must be more we don’t know.”

  His mind latched on to the thing she’d said when she’d first walked in the door, when he was more focused on his thoughts of her and worries over her emotional state than on what she was saying. Before he’d wanted to face it. “Was it Russ? Did your brother Russ kill Fahad?”

  Her throat moved, as if she was choking back tears.

  He had his answer. “Was he working with the Russian mob?”

  “No. And I don’t know what happened. Please, Efraim. We need to learn the truth before racing into something. We need to know why.”

  “I don’t have to know why.” He grasped the keys from where Callie had laid them on the bookshelf.

  “No. Don’t. Efraim, please. I don’
t know that Russ had anything to do with it.”

  “Your eyes say different.”

  “Please, don’t.”

  He strode into the hall and closed the door behind him, shutting out her pleas. Time for investigation was over. Time for waiting done. Now was a time for justice. And as painful as it was to turn his back on Callie, he knew what he had to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callie’s knees folded. Gripping one of the leather chairs, she lowered herself to the floor. The suite smeared in front of her, a wash of color. Salty tears rolled down her cheeks and wet her lips.

  So Fahad had been right after all. Her family, Efraim’s, all of them would be destroyed.

  No.

  She needed to call the ranch, warn Russ. But if she did, she knew her family would greet Efraim with guns blazing. Brent might be the expert marksman, but that didn’t mean Russ and Timmy couldn’t hold their own. And they had a regular arsenal of hunting rifles in the house with which to get the job done.

  The sheriff. She had to call the sheriff. She felt useless without her BlackBerry.

  She glanced around the room for a phone. A small, cheap-looking cell phone lay in a jumble of receipts next to Efraim’s laptop computer. She picked it up, praying it wasn’t the one he’d carried into the creek.

  She turned it on and scanned the display. A text sent message flashed on the screen.

  She shook her head. The time readout indicated the text was sent several days ago. Yet she never remembered Efraim using a stripped-down phone like this one.

  She chewed her bottom lip. She knew she shouldn’t snoop, but something felt strange about this. Something wasn’t right.

  She brought up a copy of the text. As she read the words, her stomach tensed into a knot.

  AS SOON AS he crested the rise and spotted the timber gate announcing the Seven M Ranch, Efraim felt his stomach hollow out the way it had when he’d been a soldier. When it had been his job to fight.

  And, if need be, to kill.

  He scanned the sagebrush and sparse grass sloping down to the creek, growing more lush the nearer to water. He took in the white house, the fence of pine rail stacked in interconnecting vees, back and forth like an accordion, and the silver shine of wire stretching for miles across the plain. He wondered how it all looked through the eyes of a young girl growing up with big dreams, the only girl with four brothers and a mother who died.