Colorado's Finest

by Lynn, Sheryl

Tate wondered if it were possible that Bernadette didn’t know who she’d crossed. “Wait for your mouthpiece, Ms. O’Malley. Here,” he grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet, “Let’s get the inventory over with. Call it a favor to the feds since they’ve been so helpful. Anything in your pants pockets that will cut or stick me?”

  “The FBI is asking for me by name? For real? Did I make their Ten Most Wanted list?”

  Tate pulled a wad of cash, several matchbooks and a set of keys from her pockets. She stank of wood smoke and sweat. He stood in front of her to count the cash. Two hundred and eighty-six dollars. The keys intrigued him. There was a set for a Lincoln, and a few that might be door keys. One, however was tiny like a luggage key and another was for a safe-deposit box. The key fob was a fancy silver bar with turquoise chips spelling out stylized letters: FKM.

  “I’m guessing the cash came out of Diana’s cookie jar. But who owns the keys?”

  “Those are mine.”

  “What does FKM stand for?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “I’m not going to question you, Ms. O’Malley. So you just sit back down and listen.” He helped her to the ground. “You’re in a lot of trouble. The feds aren’t the only people looking for you. Two armed men came to this farm. One died, the other was murdered by an assassin after we took him into custody. His assassin is still on the loose. I have reason to believe that there are other men searching for you, and they have committed murder.” He looked to the sheriff. Gil’s face was bland, tacitly giving permission for Tate to continue.

  He dangled the key fob. “Farrah Montgomery. Missing and presumed dead. We found the ransom money, Bernadette. The briefcase was bugged. You led those thugs straight to your sister’s home. One of them mistook her for you. Did you have any idea who Farrah Montgomery was before you kidnapped her? Murdered her? Do you get who she is now?”

  “I didn’t kill her.” She begged with her eyes for understanding. “She was my friend. Best friend I ever had. I never hurt her.”

  “Where is she?”

  She lifted a shoulder. The cockiness had fled and she chewed her lower lip.

  “Is she dead?”

  “What will you give me if I talk?”

  Gil planted his fists on his hips. “This isn’t an auction, Ms. O’Malley. Besides, it’s out of our hands. If you want to make deals, you’ll have to deal with the FBI.”

  “Then I better shut up.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” Tate said. “Your sister could be in danger.”

  “Diana?” She made a hissy noise through her teeth. “She’s like a cat. Always lands on her feet. Leads one of those charmed lives, you know? Nothing bad ever happens to her.”

  Tate clenched his fists. He wanted to shake her. “Does the name Douglas Montgomery mean anything to you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She was sizing him up, trying to guess how much he knew and how he could use it against her—or vice versa. Finally, she pulled a facial shrug. “Farrah’s daddy. Sweet old guy. What does he have to do with this?”

  Tate snapped his head around and faced Gil’s shocked expression.

  “What?” Bernadette scowled. “What’s the big deal? Me and Farrah went to her place in Lake Tahoe and he flew in. Had his own Learjet. We partied, had some fun. For an old guy, he’s pretty hot in the sack. He even invited me to his island for a vacation. He’s way rich.” Her scowl deepened. “Oh. Guess he’s mad about Farrah being…out of touch.”

  “You actually saw Douglas Montgomery.”

  “Every inch of him.” She winked. “A nice suntan hides a lot of wrinkles.”

  Tate pulled Gil to the side. “If that reporter told the truth, then Bernadette is one of the few people who can ID Montgomery.”

  “You think the feds will use her to reel him in?”

  “That’s exactly what I think.” Tate rubbed his scratchy eyes. Every muscle ached from the tension of the stakeout. “We need to get her out of here.”

  Moe Sherwood walked up the driveway, his big yellow hat pulled low on his forehead. “Can’t get that rustbucket to run,” he said. “Engine will turn, but then it dies. I about killed your battery.”

  Tate breathed a curse. When he asked for the keys, Moe said he’d left them in the Bronco. If he were lucky, Tate thought, someone would steal it.

  Diana walked around the house. She wore a thoughtful expression and had her hands in her pockets. In passing, she glanced at her sister, but said nothing to her. “I don’t have coffee,” she said to Tate, “but I can make tea.” The men shook their heads and mumbled, “thanks but no thanks.” Shrugging, she entered the house.

  “She’s mad at me,” Bernadette said, a woebegone look on her face. “It’s not like I did anything to her.”

  Tate never had understood the criminal mind. He sure didn’t get how Bernadette could act so clueless about the damage she wrought. He followed Diana into the house.

  She leaned a hand on a kitchen counter and the other hand covered her face. Soundlessly, she sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

  “Ah, honey, it’s okay,” he said, feeling helpless and stupid. He awkwardly patted her back, unsure if he should hold her or leave her alone. She solved his dilemma by turning into his arms and burying her face against his shoulder. He rubbed her back and held her until her shaking subsided.

  “Sorry,” she said, breathlessly. “I was so afraid she’d try to run or shoot it out with you. So scared. Now that she’s safe, it’s such a relief.”

  “I know, I know.” He lifted strands of hair off her damp face. “She’s alive, healthy. Like you said, she chose her own path.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t want her to escape. I’m glad she’s in custody. It’s just hard on my heart, you know? She’s going to prison for good.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  Gil tapped on the door. “Albright is taking his sweet time. Ms. O’Malley is getting cold. I’m going to—”

  “Can she come inside, Gil? I’d like to talk to her.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Diana.”

  She wiped tears off her cheeks with the flats of her hands. “I doubt I’ll get another chance. Please?”

  After a few seconds, Gil nodded. He had Moe and Bill bring Bernadette inside. They seated her at the kitchen table. Gil and the deputies went back outside.

  “I could sure use a cup of hot tea,” Bernadette said. “I’m kind of hungry, too.”

  Without a word, Diana went to the stove.

  Tate smoothed hair off his ears. It was weird seeing them together in the light. Like stereo-vision. Even the way they held their heads, slightly canted and chins up, was identical. He moved to the window. Gil was dismissing Bill and Moe. The sheriff shook hands with both. Whatever he said made Moe laugh. Both of them got into Moe’s truck and they drove away. Gil opened his phone and punched in a number. He listened then shook his head and walked to the Range Rover. He reached inside for the radio mike.

  Diana measured water into a pot. “Remember when you tried to call Mother? I refused your collect calls? I didn’t know you were in jail. Mother wanted to talk to you, see you. It’s my fault it didn’t happen. I’m sorry, Bernie. Really sorry.”

  “Eh.” Bernie shrugged. “I don’t blame you. I’ve always been a pain in your butt.”

  “I had no right to keep you away from her.”

  Bernadette laughed. Even her laugh sounded exactly like Diana’s. “Why, ’cause Mom acted all gooshy about me? Ha! She didn’t like me all that much, Di. Besides, even if I wasn’t in jail, I wouldn’t have gone to see her.” She shuddered. “Sick people creep me out. You know that.”

  “Mother loved you.”

  “I was just her way of sticking it to the old man. You’re the one she loved.” She shrugged again. “Why not? You were the good daughter. Mom and Daddy thought you walked on water.” She turned her big blue eyes on Tate. “I like you a lot better than Dr. Jeff. She tell you about her husband? He had a stick shoved so far up
his butt he could brush his teeth with it. I never could figure out what she saw in him.”

  “Bernie.”

  “What? Am I wrong? You two don’t have a big thing going?”

  Diana placed a hand over her mouth. She was fighting a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “If you don’t have a thing going on…” Bernadette raked Tate up and down with an impertinent look. “Maybe you and I ought to chat. I bet you’re just a big boy all over.”

  Tate had to turn away to choke down laughter. He caught a glimpse of Diana’s face. She wore an expression that said, See why I can’t resist her?

  Gil pushed the door open. “Tate, come here.” Tate joined him on the porch. The sun had topped the mountain peaks, glazing the sky with red-gold light. “Something is wrong. I can’t get Albright on the phone. Desk clerk at the hotel said he and the other agents left twenty minutes ago.”

  Tate closed his eyes. Cell phones were as easy to monitor as radios. All it took was someone willing to listen. He imagined Douglas Montgomery’s goons were paid well to do the job.

  His entire body itched in warning. “We better get out of here.”

  The sheriff’s call letters squawked over the radio in the Rover. Bill Yarrow and Moe Sherwood had come upon an automobile accident on their way back to town. Agent Albright’s rental sedan had gone off the road and into the Maya River. All three FBI agents were alive, but two needed emergency services.

  Tate and Gil heard the approaching engine at the same time headlights flashed across the boulders lining the driveway.

  Gil grabbed an extra shotgun and a box of shells out of the Rover. A monster SUV roared over the hill, churning dust into the morning air. Gil and Tate ran for the house.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Good guy? Bad guy?” Tate asked. He watched out a window while a black Lincoln Navigator pulled up about twenty feet behind the marked Rover. The windows were tinted so it was impossible to see inside. The front bumper was crumpled. The occupants must have seen him and Gil run into the house.

  Gil was already on the phone with the sheriff’s station. Steely-eyed, he watched out another window.

  A person stepped out of the Navigator’s passenger side. All Tate could see was the top of the head.

  Gil bobbed his head, trying to see better. “Can you see—?”

  Gunfire erupted. Bullets sprayed the Rover. Both back tires blew and the bubble lights shattered. Diana pulled Bernadette off the chair and flat onto the floor.

  A muffled whump. Window glass bulged in the frames. The Rover’s gas tank had exploded, lifting the rear end then dropping it hard. The vehicle burst into flames.

  Gil’s mouth fell open. “My budget,” he murmured. “Sons of bitches just wrecked my budget.”

  Tate drew back the butt of the Glock to smash the window pane. Gunfire raked the house. Windows exploded in blizzards of glass. Splinters flew from the door. Bernadette screamed and Diana threw herself atop her sister. Tate and Gil dropped to the floor and covered their heads with their arms.

  Silence.

  With his back to the wall, panting, Gil said, “Bad guys.” He spoke into the phone. “Hear that? Machine guns. They blew up my damned Rover! We’re in a lot of trouble, but damn it, don’t send anyone in blind! I don’t know how many there are.”

  Tate cautiously peeked out the window. The shooter, marked by blue smoke curling from the gun barrel, crouched behind the Navigator, protected by the engine block. Through the flames and smoke of the burning Rover Tate glimpsed movement by the garage. He duck-walked beneath the window to the other side. Slowly, he brought the Glock to the window and took aim. He pulled off four quick shots at the SUV before he ducked back down behind the safety of the thick log walls.

  Gunfire blasted the house again. Bullets zinged through the door, showering the room with splinters. Art work cracked and splintered, falling off the walls. Bullets striking kitchen utensils zinged and pinged.

  Diana half-pulled, half-pushed her sister into a corner of the kitchen. She tucked Bernadette there, where she was hidden from the windows. Then she crawled across the floor to a shotgun.

  “Stay away from the door,” Tate hissed at her.

  “I am!” she hissed back.

  “Two are running around the north side of the house.” Gil checked the load on his pistol. “Is there a back door?”

  “No,” Diana replied. “But the bedroom windows are big enough to get through.”

  “Get over here. Watch this window. You see a face, shoot it.” Gil wriggled on elbows and knees to the bedroom door. Broken glass ground beneath his body and obscenities streamed from his mouth. He slowly pushed the door open.

  “In the house!” a man yelled outside. “I know you have Bernadette O’Malley. Send her out and nobody gets hurt.”

  Bernadette whimpered, her eyes as round as saucers and her face dead white. “Except me,” she whispered. “He’s gonna hurt me bad.”

  “Do you recognize the voice?” Tate asked her.

  “It kind of sounds like Doug.”

  Tate peeked. He couldn’t see anything except smoke. He prayed the burning vehicle didn’t give those mopes ideas about torching the house.

  “You are assaulting law officers!” Tate yelled. “Other officers are on the way to the scene. Put down your weapons and step into view with your hands up.” That ought to give the mopes a good laugh.

  “Do you honestly think that will do any good?” Diana asked.

  “No. But it might slow them down a little.”

  “Incoming!” Gil snapped. He rolled to the side and fired into the bedroom. Glass shattered. A man howled.

  “That will definitely slow them—”

  Automatic fire raked the back of the house. Diana and Tate flattened themselves on the floor. Fortunately the bullets were aimed high and the log walls absorbed the rounds rather than causing ricochets. Acrid gun smoke filled the house.

  “You okay, Gil?” Tate whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Diana?”

  “Shaken, but okay. I never realized guns were so loud.”

  “Uh, Incredible Hulk?” Bernadette squeaked. “You want to free up my hands? I’m handy with a gun. I can help.”

  “Shut up!” Gil and Tate yelled in unison. The woman glowered and tucked her legs tighter against her chest.

  “In the house!” the man outside yelled again. “Send Bernadette outside, or I will set the house on fire. You have thirty seconds. She’s not worth your protection. Send her out and you will live.”

  Tate risked a peek. He spotted a man behind the Navigator. Older, silver-haired, his face was darkly suntanned. Even at a distance he appeared furious. So why try to bargain, Tate wondered. “I can’t do that, sir!” he yelled.

  “Fifteen seconds!”

  Tate glanced at Diana. He hadn’t told her he loved her. He didn’t want to die without her knowing it.

  “Five! Four!”

  Tate stretched across the splintered door and snatched the shotgun from Diana. He swung in front of the shattered window and fired. The Navigator’s window exploded. He jacked another round into the chamber and fired again. The force of a blowing tire actually lifted the heavy SUV off the ground. He ducked out of the way. Automatic fire blasted the front and back of the house.

  The deafening clatter stopped and Tate heard the thumping of feet. He racked another round into the shotgun just as the door burst open. He fired, chest high. A hole the size of a cantaloupe appeared in the door and a bloodied man fell inside the house. Bernadette screamed.

  An AK-47 skittered across the floor. Gil dived for the weapon. A shadow filled the doorway; muzzle flashes flared. Tate threw himself in front of Gil. At the same time he pulled the shotgun’s trigger, his foot struck a throw rug and slipped. He went down on his back, hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

  The man in the doorway threw the machine gun aside and drew a pistol. Time seemed to slow for Tate. Gil groaned. Shards of glass cut into Tate
’s back. He brought up the shotgun, fought with the pump action, but he was moving too slow. The man was aiming, his face a blur behind gun smoke.

  There was a flash of red and purple, a spray of icy water, smashing crockery and the goon fell backward. Diana had struck him squarely in the face with the prayer altar bowl.

  Tate managed a breath, and his hands remembered how to work the shotgun. He rolled out of the doorway. Gil groaned again.

  Before he could yell at her to stay out of range, Diana scrabbled across the floor, in front of the open door, to Gil’s side. Blood and gore peppered her face, hair and shirt. A splinter stuck out of her cheek. On her knees, she dragged Gil across the floor, away from the door and windows. Tate leaped across the dead man blocking the doorway and flattened his back against the wall. His ears strained for the sound of an approaching enemy.

  Sirens rose, a blessed noise. A man ran past the smoldering Rover. Tate tried to get a bead on him, but the man was too fast and Tate didn’t dare step outside. He had no idea how many shooters were out there.

  “Gil,” Diana said. “Talk to me. Come on.” She ripped off his tie and tore open his shirt. Blood gushed from his neck.

  “How bad is he hurt?” Tate asked, never taking his eyes off the driveway. He couldn’t see Gil’s phone anywhere, nor did he know where he’d lost his.

  “He’ll live. Right, Gil? Come on, open your eyes.” She tore off her shirt and ripped off a wide strip of chambray. She folded it into a square and pressed it against Gil’s neck. “Gil. Gil! Come on, buddy, Paula will be furious if you don’t cooperate with me. She needs your help with all the grandkids. Come on, wake up.”

  Sirens turned into a deafening wail and the first cruiser flew over the hill. Tate tensed for the sound of gunfire. Maya Valley sheriff’s cruisers and state police vehicles screamed into the yard, forming a protective circle. Tate recognized the distinctive wail of the fire truck, but it wasn’t getting any closer.

  Tate yelled, “This is Deputy Raleigh! There’s at least one man on foot. Last spotted running north!” That one dead man and one dead or unconscious man lay on the porch was self-evident. Tate felt certain there was at least one more wounded man somewhere. “Sheriff’s been hit! I need paramedics now!”