Colorado's Finest

by Lynn, Sheryl

  He paced to the window. Earlier it had snowed. Big, fat, clumpy snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched the ground. Then it had rained for a short while and now the sky was rapidly clearing. A brisk wind rocked the treetops and whistled around the chimney. He paced back to the desk and checked his phone. He had a good signal. Gil hadn’t called.

  He peeked over his shoulder at Diana. Worse than boredom, he was all too aware of her. Her honeyed scent filled every corner of the lodge. Her hair beckoned his fingers. If he stayed still, he thought about her mouth and kissing her and the way her hands felt moving over his back. She soothed him, relaxed him—hypnotized him! If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up at her feet with his head on her lap, as pitifully eager for her attention as the dog was.

  He wished he’d brought some weights. A good, hard workout would ease his restlessness. He clipped the phone to his belt. “Come on, Tippy. Let’s get some more firewood.”

  He dawdled outdoors. He threw sticks for Tippy and straightened stacks of lumber from a fallen-down stable. He did some pull-ups from a stout branch and found a good-size stone to hoist and warm his muscles. Only when his shoes were soaked through and his feet were freezing did he return to the house. Tippy shook himself, flinging water. Giving Tate a chastising frown, Diana pointed at a ragged towel hanging near the door. He caught the squirming puppy and rubbed him down. Then he removed his shoes and damp socks, and sat on a rug before the hearth. The heat from the low flames stung his cold feet, but felt good. Tippy lay beside him.

  At least with a soggy dog practically under his nose, Diana’s scent wasn’t driving him crazy.

  “Tell me about your family,” Diana said.

  “Not much to tell. Just everyday, average folks. Parents still live in the house where I grew up. Everyone likes to eat.”

  Her mouth quirked. “I can’t imagine everyday, average folks producing you.”

  He had to consider what she said before deciding she complimented him. He shrugged. “Dad’s a retired fireman. Mom is convinced retiring will mean more work, so she’s still at the hospital. She’s a pediatrics nurse.”

  “You must have grown up in a very safe household.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t even remember how many times he and his brothers tumbled down the stairs—on purpose or on accident. As kids, they’d fought constantly, usually physically, and played dangerous pranks. And there was all the stuff they did on their own—bike riding, skateboards and hitching rides on the bumpers of delivery trucks. All of them were sports nuts, too, which meant the emergency room was practically their second home. “Right. I have three brothers and two sisters. That all of us made it to adulthood is by accident, not design. We were rotten.”

  “All those brothers and sisters, amazing. Your mother must be quite the lady.”

  “She’s cool.” A pang of homesickness surprised him. ‘Meaner than a junkyard dog, though. Dad was the softie in our house. “Wait ’til your mother gets home’ was the phrase that put terror in our hearts.” He smiled at the memories. All of the Raleigh boys and girls took after their father in height. On a few occasions Mom had stood on a chair in order to face down a miscreant child.

  “Have any visited Colorado?”

  “Dad hurt his back on the job and long road trips are out of the question. Even an airplane ride is too much for him. My brothers and sisters are busy with families of their own. I’m the only one who’s ever lived outside New York.”

  “Do you miss the big city?”

  “Sometimes. But I was a cop for a long time and there are a lot of things I never want to see again. Muggers, junkies, gang members. The stupid, senseless things people can do to each other.” He leaned back on one hand. “I don’t miss the noise either. When I first got here, the quiet drove me crazy. I couldn’t sleep. Now that I’m used to it, I doubt I could go back again.”

  “I feel the same way about Phoenix. An emergency room physician sees bad stuff, too.”

  “Do you miss being a doctor? Waitressing is quite a step down for you.”

  “Not really. I like the Shack and the customers are the best. I’ve made a lot of good friends.” She pushed the floor with her heel; the chair squeaked. “When I was a doctor, I was terrified of making a mistake, terrified of looking like a fool. The only time I ever felt comfortable was when I was in my office, doing paperwork with the door closed.”

  He tried to picture her uptight, tense, impatient, fearful. He couldn’t reconcile the image with the calm, gentle woman he’d come to know.

  The telephone rang. Both of them startled. Her book thunked on the floor. He fumbled the phone open.

  “We found her camp,” Gil said.

  Tate guessed by the sheriff’s disgusted tone that they hadn’t found Bernadette. “And her?”

  “Gone. If we hadn’t been looking so hard, we’d have missed the camp altogether.”

  “Did Montgomery’s people find her?”

  “Only if they’re neat freaks. Place is clean as a whistle. Only way we’re sure it’s hers is because she left behind an empty prescription bottle of painkillers. They’re prescribed to Diana.”

  “Any idea what direction she’s headed?”

  “A downpour wiped out her tracks and search dogs aren’t having any luck picking up a trail. Damn it!”

  “So what now?”

  “Keep sitting tight. We’ve got a full scale search spreading out, and the state boys are trying to wangle a helicopter to help out. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Deep in thought, Tate disconnected the call. He turned to relay the information to Diana.

  “She’s gone again, isn’t she?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Let’s hope she runs into our people before she runs into Montgomery’s.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Diana couldn’t sleep. Worry raced circles through her mind like a frantic animal chasing its tail. She lay in the darkness, staring out a window into the night. Tate had an arm draped over her belly and a leg on her thighs. Each deep, slow breath ruffled against her hair. The scent of their lovemaking overrode the musty, mousy smell of the saggy old mattress.

  She should have been comfortable, should have been at peace. She was exactly where she’d wanted to be for a long, long time—in Tate Raleigh’s arms.

  Instead she fretted about Bernie. Her sister wasn’t a ghost, she wasn’t psychic. So how had she known to desert her camp one step ahead of the law?

  Tate claimed she’d been spotted stealing from campers. Diana didn’t believe that had spooked Bernie. Her sister always seemed surprised when she was caught doing something, as if it never occurred to her that others noticed her crimes. Besides, if Bernie had fled in fear, she wouldn’t have left the campsite so clean.

  Wind swayed the trees, casting crazy shadows across the window. Branches scraped the roof with skittery sounds that made her shiver. She wished the window had a curtain to block the bright moonlight and the shadows it caused.

  The moon!

  “Tate, wake up.” She shook his shoulder.

  He grunted and mumbled, then snapped to an alertness that startled her. “What? What’s the matter?” He fought the too-soft mattress and groped under the pillows for the weapon he’d stashed.

  Diana hopped off the bed and hurried to the window. The moon, huge and silver, turned the night into a high-contrast study of black and gray. “I know where Bernie’s headed.”

  He knuckled an eye. “What are you talking about?”

  “Bernie broke camp. She wasn’t panicked, she took her time. I bet it’s because of the moon. Look at that sky. It’s practically as bright as day. It’s the perfect time to go for the money. Isn’t it?”

  “You think she’s going to your place? She has to realize people are after her.”

  “It would make sense to Bernie. All she has to do is give Smoky Joe his head and he’ll go home. Being on horseback gives her the advantage. She’ll see any searchers long before they see her. I’m telling you, she’s gone after the m
oney.”

  He joined her at the window. He watched for a few seconds, then turned for his pants. Enough moonlight streamed inside for him to find them easily.

  While he contacted the sheriff, Diana dressed warmly. She intended to be there when her sister was caught. She gathered a thermal undershirt and flannel shirt for Tate. When she handed them to him, he was finished talking to Gil Vance.

  He pulled the thermal shirt over his head. “Gil agrees with you.” “Let me go with you,” she said. “Please.”

  “It isn’t safe.”

  “It’s my house. I have the home field advantage. Please, Tate, once the FBI gets their hands on her, I may never get a chance to talk to her again.”

  “Don’t ask this, honey. Things could go wrong, get messy. You don’t want to see that.”

  She didn’t want to see a shoot-out, her sister gunned down, men she knew wounded. She refused to believe it would come to that. “Please. She’s my sister, all I have left. Please.”

  Eyes closed, standing stiff and rigid, he seemed in pain. Perhaps he was. She felt bad for his turmoil, but she desperately wanted, needed to see her sister. If she were there, she felt positive Bernie wouldn’t do anything stupid to get herself killed.

  “You’ll stay out of the way. Follow orders.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Silently she prayed for Bernie, for Tate, for them all.

  TATE RUBBED HIS HANDS briskly, then jammed them under his armpits. It was small consolation that the wind had died. The night was, as Diana had pointed out, so still and quiet a person could hear the mountains sing. The stillness worked in their favor. Not even a cat could sneak up on Diana’s farm.

  The waiting wore on Tate’s nerves. He’d always hated stakeouts, sitting, fighting sleepiness, boredom, fidgeting. This was the first stakeout he’d ever pulled in Colorado, and it was as numbing as any in New York. There were four of them: Gil, Tate, Deputy Bill Yarrow and volunteer Moe Sherwood. Moe’s pickup was parked in Diana’s garage, so Bernadette would think it was Diana’s. All other vehicles were hidden off the property. They operated on total radio silence, and cell phones were turned off. No talking amongst themselves, no moving around. Gil and Tate were posted at the barn. Moe and Bill waited near the house. All four were armed with shotguns and powerful flashlights.

  The high point was that Gil had tipped off the reporter, Patrick Coles. He’d told him to keep an eye out for Albright and the reporter could end up with a major scoop. A national story about Bernadette’s arrest and the FBI’s custody of her should convince Montgomery once and for all that he wouldn’t get what he wanted in McClintock.

  Gil wasn’t happy about Diana’s presence. She’d agreed to stay in the house, out of the way. Tate trusted her to not interfere, no matter what happened.

  Diana. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, working out the pins-and-needles sensation. He was falling in love with her. He hadn’t meant it to happen. He’d been resisting her for a long, long time. Imagining life without her filled him with aching pain.

  She didn’t act as if he were a miserable, cowardly dope, but she had to be thinking it. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch her breast, couldn’t make himself look at her scarred chest. One of these days she was going to get damned sick of his cancer phobia.

  Gil touched his shoulder and Tate snapped to attention.

  The moon now nearly touched the western mountains and the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. It was darker now than it had been an hour ago and Tate could barely see his own hand in front of his face. He followed the shadow of Gil’s arm, pointing north.

  Then he heard it. The clip-clopping of horse’s hooves, drawing near. Along with pounding hooves came the jingle of hardware and squeaking leather.

  Tate picked up the shotgun in his right hand and the flashlight in his left.

  “Wait,” Gil said, the barest whisper. “No rider.”

  Tate couldn’t imagine how Gil knew that, but trusted the man. Sure enough, Diana’s horse trotted around the house and toward the barn. That Bill and Moe weren’t reacting meant they realized Bernadette was pulling something. Tate’s respect for the Colorado lawmen hiked a notch.

  They kept waiting. Tate imagined Bernadette was waiting, too, to see what kind of reaction the horse received. The sun was rising. She had to make her move soon.

  Finally, they heard the noise Gil was waiting for. The metallic scrape of the bee enclosure gate latch. Gil touched Tate’s arm, urging him to the left. The two spread out, flanking the bee enclosure.

  Tate spotted her stealthy shadow. He raised the shotgun. When she had both hands on the beehive, Gil, who was standing behind her, turned on the light and yelled, “Freeze!”

  For a heart-stopping second Tate watched her hand hover as if she debated going for a weapon. Don’t do it, he urged silently. Dear God, don’t do it.

  “Put your hands on your head,” Gil ordered. “This is the sheriff. You are under arrest.”

  She laced her fingers atop her head. Tate turned on his flashlight and set it on a boulder so it shone directly on Bernadette. He rested the shotgun against the stone, then drew his handgun. He entered the bee enclosure. From the corner of his eye he spotted a few bees reacting sluggishly to the light. He patted her down and found a .38 in one coat pocket, and a folding knife and a loaded clip for the handgun in the other pocket. He checked her waistband and ran his hands down her legs in case she had something in her boot tops.

  Aware of bobbing flashlights announcing the arrival of Bill and Moe, he handcuffed Bernadette’s arms behind her back.

  He could hear the bees now. A low warning hum. He grabbed her upper arm and hustled her out of the enclosure.

  Gil shone the flashlight in Bernadette’s face. Her resemblance to Diana staggered Tate. Knowing they were twins was one thing, but seeing her in the flesh was an eye-opener. Her hair was short and her face was thinner than Diana’s, but if he saw her walking down a street, he’d be uncertain which sister she was.

  “Bernadette Marie O’Malley?” Gil asked.

  She grinned crookedly, seeming resigned. Tate wondered if she’d be so smug if she knew the FBI had the half a million dollars. “You got me. You guys don’t still hang horse thieves, do you?”

  Even her voice was like Diana’s, low and slightly husky. Spooky.

  Tate recited the Miranda warning.

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard it before. So I guess Di is pressing charges. Oh well, guess you caught me red-handed. I’m bad.”

  Tate wondered if she’d forgotten about Tim Robertson and the stolen Buick, or figured if she didn’t mention it, neither would they. It didn’t matter. She was in custody with no blood spilled. In a short while, she’d be the FBI’s problem. He and Gil marched her around to the front of the house and had her sit cross-legged on the ground. Gil directed Bill and Moe to bring up the hidden vehicles, then he pulled out his cell phone.

  The house windows lit up and the porch light came on. Diana stepped outside. Gil took his phone conversation out of earshot. Tate nodded at Diana to let her know she could approach.

  Bernie grinned up at her sister. She acted like a kid who’d been caught filching cookies. “Hi, there.”

  “How’s your arm?” Diana asked.

  “Right as rain. You did a bang-up job. I think you’re a better doctor than Daddy ever was. He had a lousy bedside manner.” She batted her eyelashes at Tate. “I didn’t really steal your horse. I always meant to bring him back. You didn’t have to call the cops. There isn’t a scratch on him.”

  “You always were good with animals.”

  “So, uh, why don’t you tell the Incredible Hulk here to take off the bracelets. They don’t match my ensemble.”

  “Oh, Bernie, this isn’t about you stealing Smoky Joe.”

  Headlights appeared over the hill, and the sheriff’s Range Rover rumbled into view. Bernie’s smile faded. Tate guessed she was finally getting that this was a lot more than a domestic dispute between sisters.

 
“Honey,” he said to Diana, “your horse went into the barn. Go take care of him.”

  Bernie watched her sister walk away. “Honey?” she said to Tate. “How do you rate that you can get away with calling her names? She hates that kind of stuff. Must be ’cause you’re so darned cute. Or tell me, are you the reason she’s so mellow these days?”

  Her teasing amused him and gave him a better understanding of how she’d flim-flammed her family all these years. She was a charmer.

  Gil walked up to them. “Albright’s ticked. Says we should have notified him before the capture.”

  “Looks like we’ll get our hands slapped. Too bad.”

  Gil hunkered into a crouch and rested his elbows on a knee. He studied Bernadette as if she were an exotic insect. “A whole lot of people are looking for you, Ms. O’Malley.”

  “For little ol’ me? I’m flattered.”

  “Mind telling us what’s going on?”

  She looked from man to man. Tate noticed the real physical difference between the twins. Where Diana’s expression was open and gentle, this woman was sly, always on the lookout for an advantage. “Going on?” she said innocently. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

  Gil turned a wrist enough to see the faintly glowing face of his wristwatch. “In about fifteen or twenty minutes, the FBI will arrive. They’re going to take you into custody.”

  Her smile faded and she worked her shoulders as if the handcuffs were hurting her. “FBI? How come?”

  “You tell us.”

  “I’m not telling anybody anything until I have a lawyer.”

  Those words ended the interview. Gil was legally bound to stop all attempts to elicit information or a confession. He rose.

  “Huh,” Tate said. “Last mope who asked for a lawyer in this town got himself a bullet in the brain.”

  “She’s invoked her right to counsel,” Gil said. “Drop it.”

  “I’m not talking to her, sir. I’m talking to you. Do you think the FBI will protect her or dangle her like a worm on a fishing pole?”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”