The Rivals

by Joan Johnston

  He’d hoped someone would approach him about Kate, but it hadn’t happened. And the longer he was in Niles’s company, the more ridiculous it seemed to imagine the jovial politician involved in a kidnapping.

  It was time to leave while he could still make it on his own two feet. “I’ve got to take off,” he said.

  “It’s the shank of the evening,” Niles replied. “You haven’t met everyone yet.” The Texas oilman pulled him along to another room to meet a cluster of his cronies, other oilmen from Texas with money to contribute to his campaign.

  Clay suddenly realized that several of these men belonged to the oil consortium his office was investigating. He would have to be careful to watch what he said. It was often impossible to avoid fraternizing with the enemy in Washington circles, but it was wise to keep your hand on your wallet while you did.

  He waited warily to see whether one of them would broach the subject of his investigation of the consortium. But they were either too cautious—or too shrewd—to mention it.

  “That drink of yours needs refreshing,” Niles said, and signaled the bartender for another drink.

  Clay’s glance followed Niles’s hand and became riveted on a woman who stood at the bar in a stunning, form-fitting backless red dress. He sucked in his breath when the young woman turned around and he saw how very beautiful she was, dark-eyed and dusky-skinned and voluptuous. Then he realized the bartender had handed her his drink to deliver to him.

  She kept her eyes fixed on the crystal glass, carrying it with both hands, as though it were nitro that might explode if jostled.

  “Japan always needs more oil,” Niles said to one of his cronies, momentarily distracting Clay’s gaze from the girl. When she reached his side, Niles slid his arm around her bare shoulder and said, “This is Natalie. She’s been wanting to meet you all evening. Natalie, this is Mr. Blackthorne.”

  Clay thought the girl looked young enough to be his daughter. She also looked nervous, understandable in a crowd of less-than-sober men. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalie,” he said, reaching out to take his drink from her.

  “Mucho gusto, señor,”Natalie replied, barely touching his fingers as she made the exchange and then putting both hands behind her back.

  Clay shot a questioning look at Niles.

  “She doesn’t speak a word of English,” Niles said. “Not even no, ” he added with a salacious grin. “If you know what I mean.”

  Clay felt sick. More than half the cowhands on his father’s South Texas ranch had been Mexican, and he’d learned Spanish right along with English when he was growing up. In Spanish, he asked the young woman if she was all right.

  She glanced at Niles before she replied that she was fine.

  Clay didn’t know why he didn’t take her at her word. Maybe it was the quick glance she took over her shoulder toward a man in the corner after she answered. Maybe it was the knowledge that his own daughter might be in a compromising situation somewhere and need to rely on the kindness of some stranger.

  “Why don’t you and I step away where it’s not so crowded, so we can talk?” Clay said, as he slid the girl’s arm through his own. He wanted to get her somewhere she would feel safe enough to tell him whether she really was all right.

  “Now you’re talking,” Niles said, winking at Clay.

  When Clay tried to lead the girl toward the brightly lit kitchen, she resisted.

  “I cannot,” she said.

  “You can’t leave?” he asked. “Why not?”

  “I cannot,” she insisted.

  She glanced over her shoulder again, and Clay looked to see whom she might be trying to find. The man he’d seen in the corner was gone, and nobody looked like they had any particular interest in the girl.

  “Do you have a boyfriend here?” he asked, wondering if that might be her problem.

  “No,” she said.

  “Would you like to go home?” he asked.

  She shot him a look that told him that was exactly what she wanted. And then shot another look around the room.

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and stared at the ground. “No one.”

  “What’s wrong?” he said. “I want to help.”

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said hurriedly. “I will do whatever you want.”

  “I want us to go somewhere a little less noisy where we can talk.”

  Clay glanced around the crowded room and was surprised to see North Grayhawk with his arm around a very beautiful woman. North met his gaze for a moment, his eyes narrowing, but Clay was distracted from confronting the other man by a female touch on his hand.

  “There is a bedroom upstairs,” Natalie said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

  Clay swore viciously under his breath. He knew girls were hired to be consorts at parties like this. He’d turned a blind eye in the past, but this was coming a little too close to home. What if his daughter were forced into a situation like this?

  He took the young woman by the arm and headed for the front door.

  “No, señor,” she protested. “Please. I cannot leave. I will be—” She looked up at him, clearly terrified.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise you’ll be fine.”

  “Upstairs, señor,” she pleaded. “Let us go upstairs.”

  Clay grimaced. She obviously thought he wanted sexual favors. And was prepared to provide them. She would find out the truth soon enough. “All right,” he said. “Upstairs, then.”

  She looked relieved and smiled at him. “Si, señor,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She grasped his hand and led him up a spiral stair-case and then along a maze of hallways. He thought of how large the house had looked from the outside and tried to imagine where she might be taking him. Finally, she opened a door at the end of a hall and he found himself in a Western-decorated guest bedroom.

  A cowhide lay on the hickory floor, and the bed frame consisted of stripped-pine logs. The lamp base had been created with deer antlers, and the shade was oiled skin that cut the light and gave the room a yellow glow.

  An elaborate display of the different types of barbed wire that had been used to fence the range hung above the bed. Clay ran his fingertips along the painted board, searching for the double-twist wire that ran along the borders of Forgotten Valley, and finally found a sample. He was more than a little surprised also to find the single-strand barbed wire that had been used in the early nineteenth century in Texas to fence his family’s ranch, Bitter Creek.

  The collection of barbed wire was a lot more rare than he would have expected. Another look revealed that nothing in the room was a reproduction, and everything was in mint condition. He felt resentful that someone had collected all these relics of past frontier lives, all this heritage, and put it in a place that was only visited by a few wealthy politicians and businessmen, most of whom probably had no idea what they were seeing.

  He turned abruptly to face the girl and experienced a spell of dizziness that nearly toppled him. “What the hell?” he said, grabbing the post at the foot of the bed to steady himself. He looked at the drink in his hand. The glass hadn’t been full in the first place, and most of the liquor was still in it. Then he thought of all the other glasses that had passed through his hand during the evening and realized he must have drunk more than he’d thought.

  “I am here to serve you,” the girl said.

  “I don’t want…” Clay realized his voice was slurred, and that he couldn’t keep his eyes in focus. “I want to help you,” he said. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  He took a step toward the girl, and the glass dropped from his hand. He stared at his empty hand in confusion. He couldn’t be that drunk. He never got drunk. So why did he feel so dizzy and uncoordinated. What the hell was going on?

  He took another step toward the girl and stumbled into her waiting arms.

  “Come sit on the bed, señor,” she said, helping him take the few steps b
ackward.

  “I know a girl your age,” he muttered. “Kate Grayhawk. I keep imagining her in your situation, you see. That’s why I want to help you.”

  The girl’s eyes went wide. “You know Kate? Kate Grayhawk?” the girl said excitedly.

  Clay realized his tongue was too thick for speech and he nodded instead.

  “I know her, señor. She is in trouble. We are both in trouble. Bad men held us captive in the mountains.”

  Clay grasped her wrist tight enough to make her wince and said, “Where?”

  “I do not know,” the girl said. “I am sorry, señor. I had to put the drug in your drink. I had no choice. He promised me it will all be over soon.”

  Too late, Clay realized he’d been set up. Kate’s disappearance had been about him after all. Whoever had taken Kate had somehow found out she was his daughter. Otherwise, why had she been held with this girl? What was it they hoped to accomplish by drugging him? Maybe they planned to take compromising pictures of him to use as blackmail. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to get out of here.

  But he couldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t work.

  He tried to think, to figure out what he should do next. He grasped at the phone at his belt, but his hands were too clumsy to retrieve it. His eyelids were heavy. His mouth would no longer work. He tried to push himself off the bed but fell back onto it instead.

  The last thing he heard was a man’s voice, and the girl’s tearful voice in reply.

  11

  Drew was sound asleep when the phone woke him. He grabbed for it and missed, sending it clattering to the floor. He swore with great eloquence as he hunted for the cordless phone in the pile of junk on the floor beside the bed. He glanced at the digital clock, which told him it was 10:38P.M., and realized he must have dozed off while reading in bed.

  “Who is it?” he said in a surly voice, as he clicked the phone on and shoved it against his ear.

  At almost the same moment he remembered that Kate was missing and said, “Kate? Is that you?”

  “It’s me.”

  Drew tried to place the male voice and said, “Clay? You don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on?”

  Drew’s heart was racing. The only reason he could imagine Clay calling was some news about Kate, and he felt sure that if it had been good news, Clay would have given it to him right off the bat. “Have you found Kate? Is she okay?”

  “I need a lawyer,” Clay said. “And a friend. How quick can you get here?”

  “Where are you? What’s happened?”

  Clay gave him the address of the house on Bear Island where he’d gone for the party earlier in the evening. “As far as I can tell, the party’s still going full roar. I need you to come find me. I’m in a bedroom upstairs, at the west end of the house, last room on the right. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “What’s going on, Clay?” Drew asked.

  Drew heard silence on the other end of the line, then a sigh, before Clay said, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I don’t believe it myself.”

  “Believe what?” Drew said. “What’s happened, Clay?”

  “There’s been a murder. A young girl.”

  Drew hissed in a breath. “Not Kate.”

  “No, not Kate,” Clay said. “Get here fast, Drew.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No! Don’t call anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Just come find me. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

  “Are you all right?” Drew asked.

  Clay hung up the phone in reply.

  Drew dragged on a pair of jeans, cursing his cousin for being so secretive on the phone. Had Clay witnessed the murder? Had he found the body? Drew wished he knew more details. He’d done some criminal defense work with DeWitt & Blackthorne in Houston, but it had all been white-collar crime. If Clay was involved somehow in a murder, he would need the best criminal defense attorney he could get.

  Drew followed the directions Clay had given him and found the house on Bear Island without difficulty. He tried the front door and it opened, so he let himself in. No one noticed him as he moved through the smoky house. Everyone was busy talking and drinking and making out with nubile women. It reminded him of the few frat parties he’d attended in college, only these revelers were grown men, politicians and businessmen, the leaders of a nation.

  Drew tried not to sneer in disgust as he made his way up the spiral staircase and down the west hall to the door on the right at its end. He knocked and said, “Clay, it’s me.”

  The door opened and he saw a haggard figure who looked like he’d aged twenty years in the few hours since Drew had last seen him.

  “Come in,” Clay said, pulling Drew inside and closing the door behind him.

  Drew’s impetus carried him toward the bed, where he found a naked woman, her slender throat pierced by a piece of barbed wire that was wrapped tightly around it. He couldn’t imagine where someone would have gotten barbed wire, until he saw the display over the bed and noticed that the wood had splintered where a strand had been torn free.

  He turned angrily to Clay and said, “What the hell happened here?”

  “I was drugged. I woke up in bed with her…like that.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” Drew asked.

  Clay met his eyes and said, “I was naked, too.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police after you got dressed?” Drew persisted. “Or at least get the hell out of here?”

  “Too many people saw me go upstairs with the girl. I’ve been set up, Drew. Someone wanted me found with her. He glanced at the girl on the bed, then turned back to Drew and said in a steely voice, “Niles Taylor invited me here and introduced me to her. He’s the man I want to talk to first.”

  “I thought Niles supported you politically.”

  “He does. He did,” Clay corrected. “My office is investigating an oil consortium he’s organized.”

  Drew met Clay’s eyes and said, “This is going to ruin any political aspirations you might have had. You do realize that.”

  Clay nodded soberly, his eyes stark.

  Drew’s mouth twisted. “Of course you do. That’s why you called me. You’ve been trying ever since you woke up naked in bed with a dead woman to figure out a way not to admit you were ever here.”

  “What I’d really like to avoid is spending the rest of my life in prison for a murder I didn’t commit,” Clay said dryly.

  “If you haven’t peed recently you might have enough of whatever drug was used in your system to—”

  “Too late for that,” Clay said. “Peed and vomited both.”

  Drew shrugged. “It was a long shot anyway. Some drugs don’t leave traces. I hope you didn’t call me here thinking I’d help you hide the evidence. I won’t. Who do you want me to call?”

  “The county sheriff has jurisdiction,” Clay said. He hesitated and said, “There’s something else, Drew. Something pretty important, I think.”

  Drew gave Clay his full attention. “I’m listening.”

  “This girl knew Kate. She said they’d been held captive together somewhere in the mountains.”

  “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Did she tell you where? Did she give you any idea who might have taken them?”

  “I was pretty much out of it by the time she admitted anything. She didn’t give me any details. Someone came into the room, someone who frightened her. I saw her eyeing a man earlier in the evening, but I couldn’t tell you what he looked like. Whoever put her up to this—she admitted putting the drug in my drink—was here in this room tonight. When I woke up, I looked out the window—”

  “To see if there was a way out,” Drew interjected.

  “To see what time of day it was,” Clay said doggedly. “The point is, I saw someone with a flashlight out on the island. There’s no reason to be out there in the dark except—”

  “Maybe to dig a hole to bury a body,” Drew finished for him.

&nbs
p; Clay nodded.

  “Only they didn’t get it dug quick enough,” Drew said. “Any chance he’s still out there?”

  “The light’s not there anymore,” Clay said. “And no one’s been back here to get the body.” Clay looked directly at Drew and said, “What if someone plans to use Kate the way they used this girl, as a murder victim?” He glanced at the girl on the bed and added, “What if they already have?”

  Drew looked at the brutal way the young girl’s life had been ended. And imagined Kate in her place. “The sooner we get the police involved, the sooner they can question everyone partying downstairs. Someone knows who did this—and why.”

  Drew used his cell phone to call the Teton County Sheriff’s Office. He had the number programmed in because he’d contacted Sarah there. When someone answered he said, “I’d like to report a murder.”

  Violent crime was practically nonexistent in a remote community like Jackson Hole. There were more suicides from depression and loneliness than assaults against persons. It wasn’t the sort of place where you could commit murder and then melt away and hide.

  Commercial airlines only flew in and out of the small Jackson Hole Airport a couple of times a day. The Idaho state line was twelve miles north of downtown Jackson, but you had to make it up the narrow, two-lane road that led over the Teton Pass, an icy path through the Grand Tetons with few guardrails to protect you from a precipitous fall. Once you’d made the climb, the closest place to hide was Idaho Falls, ninety miles away.

  Pinedale was an hour south, but there was five hours of nothing on a two-lane state road before you hit the next spot of civilization. Yellowstone was an hour east. There was nothing west for the better part of a day, until you hit Salt Lake City.

  There was no major crime in Jackson because there was no easy escape from the law.

  “When the police get here, keep your mouth shut,” Drew said.

  “I need to tell them what she said about Kate.”

  “You’ve told me. I’ll take it from here. You don’t say a word. Too bad it’s Sunday tomorrow. You’re probably going to have to spend the day in jail waiting for a bail hearing on Monday.”