by Lynde Lakes
The wooden front porch creaked. Nick moved silently to the front door, his gun ready. Sara Jane slowly got to her feet, grabbed a chair and brandished it over her head. He would have laughed at the sight, but the porch creaked again.
Someone tapped on the door.
He cocked his gun and waited, scarcely breathing.
The person knocked harder. “Need help,” a woman with a young voice whimpered.
“It’s the Indian girl, Babbling Brook, from Leila’s,” Sara Jane said softly. “She sounds desperate. You have to let her in.”
Nick’s awareness of the approaching storm and his natural urge to help warred with his need to protect Sara Jane. “It might be a trick,” he whispered. “The knock sounded too heavy for a woman.” He squeezed Sara Jane’s shoulder, wishing he had time to pull her into his arms. “I’ll slip out the back window and circle around to the front and take a look. Stay here and don’t open the door!”
Nick circled the shack, using the bushes and darkness for cover. Another zigzag of lightning revealed two silhouettes: a slender woman and a huge, easily recognizable well-built man—the tongue-less bouncer, Wally, from Leila’s. Damn. Was the ex-bounty hunter back to his old trade with Sara Jane his prey?
Wally pounded harder on the door. With the stallion, truck and horse-trailer advertising that someone occupied the shack, the big man wasn’t giving up. Nerves tight from Wally’s almost continuous pounding, Nick made a quick perimeter search for others possibly waiting in the darkness, then he crept to his truck and retrieved his Glock from the false bottom in his tool chest. He tucked his other gun into the waistband of his jeans and slipped the shoulder holster for his fifteen-rounder over his bare arms.
He checked the chamber and then, with Glock in hand, he silently returned to the bushes next to the porch. “Okay, you two, hands in the air!”
They thrust their hands up. “We friends,” Brook cried out in her pigeon English. “No trouble.” She held a notebook-sized chalkboard in one trembling hand.
Nick couldn’t read their faces. “Wait here,” he growled, not sure how he was going to work this.
Sara Jane must have been listening because he heard her unlatch the inside lock. The door swung open. Light footsteps scurried across the wood floor toward the back.
Nick hesitated in case she needed time to hide. But he had no idea where she could conceal herself. The one room shack provided no hiding places that he was aware of. After a moment, he gestured with his gun. “Inside.”
Holding his weapon on his uninvited guests, he eased to the table and lit the kerosene lamp. The room filled with a dim glow. He didn’t see Sara Jane. Had she gone out the window into the impending storm? Smart of her to stay out of sight, but now he had to worry about where she was and what she was doing. His stomach knotted. What if she decided to take off? Wally and Brook scanned the room; their foreheads furrowed.
Brook wiped her palms on her tight jeans. “You alone?” she asked, her eyes darting about like a frightened doe.
Nick motioned to the chairs. “Sit.”
Wood scraped wood as the two complied. Keeping his Glock trained on Wally and Brook, Nick edged to the back window and glanced out. A flash of lightning highlighted Sara Jane pressed against the wall. He couldn’t see her face, but she gave him a little salute. He hoped that didn’t mean goodbye, sucker. Damn it. As difficult as it was, he had to trust her. He rested his hip on the window sill and focused on his guests. The Bureau had trained him to watch for true feelings in flashes of micro-expressions that ran counter to an individual’s dominant facial gestures. “What do you want?” Intense concentration coiled his nerves tighter.
Brook tilted her head and drew her single black braid forward and smoothed it across a breast in an exaggerated gesture, clearly faking a flirtatious ploy. “Pay me to tell you?” Her voice wavered, making her command sound more like a question than a demand.
Nick laughed without humor. At least the money-grubbing little Babbling Brook stayed in character. “Who sent you here?”
Twisting one of the fringes on her buckskin top around her finger, Brook glanced at Wally. He withdrew a piece of chalk from the pocket of his shirt, yanked the chalkboard from Brook’s hands and scribbled fiercely. When he finished, he angrily held the board up for Nick to read: We came as friends, why do you treat us as enemies?
Rather than answer immediately, Nick studied Wally. Anger was often a cover up. The mute pressed his lips together, folded his arms and moved slightly back from the table. His body language contradicted the written claim of friendship.
Nick knew enough about this odd pair to believe that Brook’s request for money was a true motivation for their visit, but he suspected it wasn’t only him they wanted greenbacks from. “I think someone paid you to come here. What do you have to do for it?” Nick darted a glance out the window. Before he could focus, he heard a chair scrape the floor. Wally was on his feet. Nick gestured with his gun. “Sit down. We’re not through here.”
Wally glared at him, but slowly eased back into his seat.
A trickled of sweat rolled down Nick’s bare back. He couldn’t risk taking his eyes off this guy again. He hoped Sara Jane was hearing all of this and hadn’t, instead, taken off.
Chapter Seven
Using sign language, Wally gestured fiercely to Brook. Nick bristled at the closed fist gesture but masked his annoyance. Brook shook her head to her partner’s demand.
Brook turned and met Nick’s gaze. “Trust us. We here on our own,” she said in Pidgin English. Her soft voice failed to convey the gist of Wally’s furious hand movements.
“Then, why the hell the games? Play it straight.” Nick had so many questions—like why did they come here at 2:00 a.m.?
Brook glanced around furtively, as if the walls had ears. “Hear talk,” she said in almost a whisper. “Want to help. You pay us to tell, we all win.”
“Yeah, right.” He was becoming more and more convinced that this mercenary pair planned to collect money on two ends. “I don’t have any cash on me, but—”
“I take stallion,” she said quickly, her big brown eyes bright with excitement.
No wonder, Nick thought. The animal was worth big bucks. “One problem, the horse doesn’t belong to me. But we’ll work out the compensation after you prove your information is worth something. So start talking.” After he got their story, how the hell could he stop them from reporting back to whoever sent them?
****
Gusts of wind whipped Sara Jane’s hair around her face. She hugged herself and shivered. Her jeans and shirt provided enough protection from the elements, but the cool wood beneath her bare feet sent a chill through her. Her quick decision to climb out the window hadn’t allowed time to pull on her socks and boots.
From her hiding spot, Sara Jane couldn’t see Midnight—Blacky as Nick called him. But she heard him moving restlessly in the clearing just beyond the trees. He probably missed the ranch as much as she did. But he wasn’t the one in danger. If Wally and Brook found this shack so could the killer. She’d be safer with her family than here. Yet, as though drawn by a magnet, Sara Jane moved closer to the open window. Before she took off into the night, she had to hear exactly what Brook had overhead.
****
Nick’s heart pounded. He felt torn between the scene unfolding inside this room and the possible trouble that Sara Jane might stir up for him outside. He wanted to kick the unlikely pair out on their butts and go search for her. First he had to hear what Brook had to say and clear something up. “Who told you I was here?” he asked, purposely leaving Sara Jane out of it. “This shack isn’t exactly a tourist attraction.”
“That question cost you extra fifty, okay?”
“Sure, why not?” Money wasn’t his concern. He steeled himself from looking toward the window.
Babbling Brook studied his face a moment. He met her gaze head on. Apparently satisfied, she said, “My brother, Hawk-eye, saw smoke from fires. He come look. See
you and Ryan woman.”
“Can your brother see the dead?” Nick didn’t wait for an answer. “What did you hear that’s worth money?”
“Man tell Leila he pay thirty-thousand-dollar gambling debt in few days. Then, later, he phone someone—say he need help to grab Ryan woman.”
****
Outside the window, Sara Jane gasped. What if the man wasn’t talking about her? Nick had hidden her from the world—from most of her family and made the secret stick. What if the prospective kidnapper still thought she was dead? That would mean he and his partner were after another Ryan woman. She had to warn her dad, but first she had to hear the rest of what Brook had to say.
****
“Why should I believe you?” Nick’s mixed emotions knotted his stomach.
Brook narrowed her dark eyes, looking sly and wiser than her years. “You want take chance?”
Nick didn’t allow the slightest twitch or change in expression. He hoped if Sara Jane heard the exchange, it didn’t upset her. With her quick mind, she might deduce that her attacker could still think she was dead and that this might not be about her. Nick paced a few steps and stopped. Before he notified Matt that possibly another Ryan woman was in danger, he needed the details. “Who told you about the debt to Leila and the phone call?”
Brook tapped her buckskin top with her thumb. “Me. I hear both.” Her voice rang with importance.
Nick stiffened. “That means you saw the guy.”
She nodded.
He met Brook’s gaze. “What did he look like?”
“Short, Mexican,” Brook said. “Big arms. Cross tattoo. He work at dude ranch. He friend of jingly spurs—the guy who attacked Kitty.”
Wally scribbled on his chalkboard: He’s the uncle of the new cowpoke at the Ryan spread.
Nick had met only one new hired hand—Hamm Ross. The coppery tanned guy could be Mexican, but he claimed to be German and Caucasian. “Name?”
Wally lifted his enormous shoulder in a shrug.
Nick shifted his gaze to Brook. “You said the guy who made the phone call owes Leila money, so she saw him, too. Right?”
Wally scribbled on the chalkboard: Better than that. Leila caught him on her security video. She films all the deadbeats.
It sounded too good to be true. But he would deal with the truth of things later. “I’ll get the sheriff to check it out. Thanks.”
“What we tell is worth three hundred fifty dollars, yes?” Brook asked.
Nick exhaled heavily. “Yeah. I’ll get someone to bring cash here for you.”
“No! Bring to Leila’s.”
Nick couldn’t let them leave. “Where is this brother who sees dead women?”
“Hawk-eye wait nearby.”
Nick hadn’t seen anyone. “Signal him to join us. The three of you can sit out the storm here. It could get nasty out there. By the time it’s over, I’ll have your money for you.” Nick figured Matt and the sheriff could detain the trio until he could move Sara Jane to a safer place.
Wally slammed the table with his fist and shook his head vehemently; his inability to speak didn’t bar him from clearly showing his disapproval.
“Wally no like!” Brook said, as if Nick hadn’t figured that out. “Me no like. Hawk-eye no like when I tell him. No stay! Bring money to Leila’s.”
Nick considered cuffing these two and going after the brother, but what if he couldn’t find him? The Indian would be free to sell them out and guide trouble right to their door.
****
Sara Jane had heard enough. Silently, she headed for the stallion. She hated to leave Nick with no transportation, but her dad could send back another horse. After all, Nick was a trained agent with a fifteen-round Glock—he’d be all right.
At the snap of a twig, she stopped and leapt back into the shadows of the bushes. Darkness kept her from clearly seeing the man sneaking up to the shack. As he slipped closer, she made out a bare chest and long dark hair slapping against his face and shoulders. Silver bands on his biceps emphasized muscled arms. Then she saw it—the glint of a gun. Her heart pounded wildly. If he took Nick by surprise, he could shoot him before Nick even had a chance.
She couldn’t leave him open to attack, not after he’d done all in his power to protect her. When she’d deserted him twice in the beginning it was before she knew him, before she cared for him more than she should. But what could she do without a gun? If she yelled a warning to Nick, it would alert the man and he might shoot her. What would Uncle Luke, the risk-taker, do in this situation?
He’d bluff.
Sara Jane found a firm, gun-shaped stick that fit nicely into her hand. She tiptoed around behind the man. He had reached the porch. Time had run out. It was now or never. She took a deep breath, and slipped up behind him and jabbed the stick into his ribs. “Drop it or you’re dead.”
****
While Sara Jane held Hawk-eye’s gun on their three guests, Nick tied Wally, Brook, and her brother together with ropes he’d cut to size. “I hate to do this,” he said, “but sneaking up on a man with a gun in hand, isn’t the way I do business.”
Brook yelled at her brother. “Why no wait by horses? You ruin everything.”
“Storm close now,” the Indian said. “I come get you. We cross dry river bed before flash flood hit.”
“That doesn’t explain the gun,” Nick said.
The Indian glared daggers at Nick. He didn’t even try to justify the weapon. It didn’t matter, Nick wouldn’t believe him anyway, and he didn’t have time to listen. Wally, tied and unable to sign or use his chalkboard, glared at Nick and mouthed the word money.
Brook must have been thinking the same thing. “You promise money,” she said with a whine in her tone.
“You’ll get it,” Nick growled. He gave Sara Jane a hug. “Thanks for hanging around and backing me up. Risky as hell to use a stick, but you pulled it off.” He wanted to hold her longer and fully express how proud he was of her, but the storm was approaching. Fast. He grabbed his cell phone, but it rang before he had the chance to punch in any numbers.
It was Matt. “Alicia’s been kidnapped,” he said without preamble. “Lloyd Adams, her bodyguard is dead.” Matt’s voice choked. “Is Sara Jane all right?”
“Fine.” Nick walked outside away from the shack and curious ears. Sara Jane followed, frowning as though she’d sensed the bad news. “But we can’t stay here,” Nick said. “Our hideout’s been discovered, and the killer may know Sara Jane’s alive.”
“Get back to the ranch ASAP. We need Sara Jane with us, and we need you to help set up a command center to find my niece…before…” The line went silent a moment and Nick imagined Matt struggling to rein in his emotions.
“We’ll get her back alive,” Nick said.
Sara Jane gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth and her terrified eyes brimmed with tears. She grabbed for the cell phone. Nick held it high out of her reach with one hand while he drew her close with the other. “Easy,” he said. “You can talk in a minute. Stay calm and we’ll work this all out.” He wished he was as certain of that as he sounded. If the Honey Killer had Alicia the likelihood of a happy ending was slim. But if the kidnapper was a copycat working for De Fuego, chances were slightly better.
Sara Jane glared up at him. “Who?” But Nick could see by the dread in her eyes that she already knew it was her cousin.
“Alicia,” he said, fighting the constriction in his throat.
****
Sara Jane fought the image of Kitty lying dead, faceless…That won’t happen to Alicia! She swiped at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. She heard Nick briefing her dad on the situation at the shack. Didn’t he see that none of that mattered anymore? Alicia was the one who needed his concern now.
Nick covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said, “Matt’s sending deputies to take these three into custody. You can talk to him, but make it short. We have to head back.” A clap of thunder punctuated his words.
She s
hivered as he handed the phone to her. Her throat closed tight and all she could force out was, “Oh, Dad…”
“It happened in the parking lot of the Miss Rodeo Competition,” her father said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find Alicia and bring her home safely.”
He meant his strong, positive words to make her feel better. Instead, she felt rising panic. How would they find her? “I know, Dad.” Unable to say more past the lump in her throat, Sara Jane shoved the cell phone back at Nick.
He drew her into his strong arms and kissed her forehead. She clung to him, inhaling his familiar scent, but she had to get a hold of her emotions before she returned to the ranch or she couldn’t console those who needed the most comfort. Uncle Luke, Aunt Amber, and Erik must be out of their minds with worry. How would they react to her returning from the dead? Alicia’s disappearance and her appearance might be too much for them. Guilt rocked her. Nick had kept her safe while her cousin’s fate was in jeopardy.
****
With the mercenary trio tied securely inside the line shack, Sara Jane and Nick prepared to head back to the ranch. Fully dressed and armed, Nick tucked his Glock into his shoulder holster and Hawk-eye’s gun into his waistband.
“Why can’t we ride Midnight?” Sara Jane asked, wind whipping her hair.
“With a lightning storm approaching, the truck is safer.”
“Not if the road washes out.”
In spite of her protests, Nick loaded Midnight into the horse trailer hitched to his truck. When he finished, he came up behind Sara Jane, took her by the shoulders, and guided her to the passenger side of his pickup. “I’ll drive.” His voice was gentle but firm and the deep tone vibrated through her like an earth tremor.
“It’s your wheels,” she quipped. “But can you find your way?” The last thing she wanted was to drive in circles. “After the storm hits, the road and surrounding land will look different.”
“You worry too much.”
“I have reason to worry. Alicia is in the hands of a monster, the family needs me to give them comfort, and I’m still here with you.”
