The Rivals

by Joan Johnston

  Libby saw the threat in King’s words: that he would reveal the secret Clay had kept for so long—his relationship to Kate, and at a time when it was liable to do the most damage to Clay’s career.

  Libby had seen two massive bull elk face off and lock antlers with a clamor that echoed through the forest. The clash of wills between these two men was no less violent.

  “I intend to have my son out of here by morning,” Blackjack said.

  “He stays where he is,” King replied.

  “He’s innocent.”

  “Guilty as sin,” King shot back. “Of more than just this girl’s death.”

  “What’s that you’re saying?” Hank interjected. “You’ve got evidence of more than just this girl’s death? You think Blackhorne knows something about Kate’s disappearance?”

  “Stay out of this, Hank,” King said.

  Hank eyed both men and backed off.

  “I called Judge Wilkerson from Washington,” Blackjack said. “He’s willing to have a bail hearing first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Bail hearing doesn’t mean your son is getting out on bail,” King said. “Here in Jackson, we don’t allow murderers to roam the streets.”

  “My son is innocent.”

  “Ain’t till it’s proven so,” King said.

  “You’ve got that backward,” Blackjack countered. “A man is innocent until—

  “We’ll prove him guilty,” King said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  Blackjack turned from King to the captain and said, “I want to speak with my son.”

  “No,” King said.

  Blackjack never took his eyes off the captain, and Libby watched with a sick feeling in her stomach as Hank shot a look at King and visibly wilted.

  “Sorry, sir,” Hank said. “Can’t let you do that. Only his attorney can speak with him before the bail hearing.”

  Libby knew that rules like that were broken all the time. At the moment, it appeared Hank was more frightened of whatever repercussions her father might have promised than what this stranger might do to him.

  Blackjack didn’t argue. He simply turned on his booted heel and left the jail.

  Hank spit the dark liquid residue of his chewing tobacco into a Styrofoam coffee cup he was carrying and said, “Whew! That is one angry motherf—”

  “There are ladies present, Hank,” King said, glancing at Libby. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the hearing. I trust no one will be visiting the prisoner before then.”

  Hank gave a jerky nod. “No, sir. No one.”

  “Except for me, Daddy,” Libby said. “Hank promised I could speak with his prisoner.”

  King crossed to her and said, “I can’t imagine what you have to say to that…man.”

  “His name is Clay Blackthorne, Daddy. And what I have to say to him is none of your business.”

  “That pack of coyotes should have stayed in Texas where they belong,” King said, glancing at the door Blackjack had exited.

  Libby knew better than to argue with her father. “Good night, Daddy.”

  King Grayhawk harrumphed a dismissal and limped away without another word.

  Libby made sure her father was gone before she turned back to Hank. “I’m ready when you are,” she said.

  “This is a dangerous prisoner,” Hank said. “I’m not sure—”

  “Daddy isn’t going to make any more fuss,” she assured the nervous captain. “And for Kate’s sake, I’m willing to take the risk.”

  Hank took her to an isolation cell where Clay was being held. Above her, on the second floor, she saw a deputy in a glass-walled box who had a view of the entire jail. Hank stopped in front of a door in which the only openings were a food port and a small window and punched in the combination to a Cypher lock on the wall.

  When the cell door opened, she flinched at the sight of Clay wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit. She struggled not to wrinkle her nose at the smell in the spartan cell, with its stainless steel toilet attached to the wall. Then her gaze locked with Clay’s.

  Libby wasn’t sure what she’d expected, maybe regret, maybe anxiety, even apprehension. What she saw was cold, hard anger. Defiance. Hostility. Scorn. And the arrogance of a man who had no intention of tolerating the treatment he was receiving, a man certain that it would be rectified immediately, if not sooner.

  “Why am I still in here?” Clay asked.

  “Bail hearing is scheduled at ten in the morning,” Hank replied.

  “I think he’ll talk more freely if I speak with him alone,” Libby said.

  Hank shook his head. “I don’t think—”

  “If my father has no objection, I don’t see why you should,” Libby said.

  “Your father was here?” Clay asked, his body suddenly taut.

  “Please, Hank,” Libby said. “I need a few minutes alone—”

  “Three minutes,” Hank said abruptly. “Then you’re out of here. This is supposed to be a goddamn isolation cell. ’Scuse the French.”

  “Thank you, Hank.” She put a hand on the captain’s chest, and he backed out of the cell and closed the door partway.

  “I’ll be right here, Blackthorne,” Hank said from the other side of the door. “Don’t try anything.”

  Libby followed Clay as he moved to the rear of the tiny cell to give them more privacy.

  The first words out of his mouth were, “The girl who was murdered was with Kate yesterday.”

  “What?” That fact had not been on the news. “How do you know?”

  “She told me so.”

  Libby felt a chill at her core. “You didn’t hurt that girl to make her tell you—”

  “I didn’t lay a hand on her. She was afraid to talk to me in the crowd and led me to an upstairs bedroom. My drink was drugged, and when I woke up, I was in bed with her and she was dead.”

  “Why would anyone do such a thing? Who hates you enough—”

  “North,” Clay said. “Your brother North was there last night.”

  Libby stared at him aghast. “Are you suggesting North—”

  “He’s killed before.”

  “That death was ruled an accident !” Libby’s breathing was harsh, and she felt her hackles rise in response to the threat against her brother. Slowly and succinctly she said, “It wasn’t North.”

  “What’s his connection to Niles Taylor?” Clay asked.

  Libby shoved a curl behind her ear in agitation. “They’re members of the same oil consortium.”

  “That’s all? Nothing else?”

  “How should I know?” she said angrily. “I don’t keep track of everything North does. But if you’re suggesting my brother is involved in anything illegal—”

  “I don’t know if that oil consortium is dirty or not,” Clay said. “If it is, North would certainly have a reason to want me in a compromising position, since my office is investigating it.”

  “How would killing that girl help North?” Libby demanded.

  “I don’t think I was supposed to wake up before the girl’s body had been removed,” Clay said.

  Libby shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Drew thinks someone took pictures of me with the dead girl, that her murder was part of a blackmail scheme to make me dance like a puppet on a string.”

  “Drew was there, too?” Libby asked.

  “Not at the party. I called him after I woke up and found myself in bed with a dead girl.”

  Libby felt her heart squeeze. “You called him, but not me? You trust him, but not me?”

  “It has nothing to do with trust,” Clay said brusquely. “Drew’s an attorney. I needed legal advice.”

  “You could have called me later,” Libby said.

  “I didn’t want to get you involved.”

  Libby’s mouth twisted cynically. “You mean you didn’t want anyone making a connection between the two of us, especially with Kate missing. You wanted to protect your career.”

  Clay opened
his mouth to say something, then shut it. For the first time she saw something like remorse in his eyes.

  “It crossed my mind,” he admitted. He shoved a hand through his black hair, leaving it askew as he paced the narrow width of the cell. “But that wasn’t my only reason for wanting to keep you out of this.”

  “What other reason is there?”

  “I didn’t want reporters squatting on your doorstep, getting in the way of finding Kate.”

  “Have you told the police what you just told me—about the girl who was murdered being with Kate earlier in the day?” Libby said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why aren’t they out looking for our daughter?”

  “They’re trying to find the person who brought Natalie—Lourdes—to that party. Maybe he can lead them back to wherever Kate is being kept. They’ll find him…unless he’s already dead.”

  “What do you mean?” Libby asked.

  “The man Sarah Barndollar shot on Bear Island last night was there digging up the body of Sarah’s husband Tom, who’s been missing for the past fifteen months.”

  “You think the man who was shot brought Lourdes to that party?” Libby said.

  “He was on Bear Island in the dark, carrying a gun on the night of the murder,” Clay said. “So, yes, I think he could be one of the bad guys.”

  Libby clasped her hands so tightly together the knuckles turned white, to keep from wringing them in despair. “What if it was him, Clay? What if the only person who could have led us to Kate is dead? How are we going to find our daughter before something like what happened to that poor girl happens to her?”

  “Come here,” he said.

  Libby stepped into his embrace and welcomed the feel of his arms closing around her in comfort. “I’m so scared, Clay.”

  “I should be out of here later this morning,” he said. “We’ll find out everything we can about the man who was killed. He had to know someone at that party. And we’ll start looking at every isolated cabin around here—by air, by snowmobile, on skis. If this was an ongoing blackmail scheme, it won’t work anymore because it’s been exposed.”

  Libby suddenly had an idea. “Maybe there are other blackmail victims,” she said. “You could request that anyone who’s been blackmailed in a similar manner step forward, anonymously if they must, and tell you who’s benefited. Surely that would lead us to the bad guys. And if we know who they are—”

  Clay hugged her quickly and let her go. “A lot of cameras will be on me when I’m released on bail. I’ll make my plea then.”

  “Do you think someone will come forward?” Libby asked.

  “Maybe. If anyone else has been blackmailed. And if they believe they can do it without the bad guys coming after them. These guys play for keeps.”

  Libby stepped back when she heard Hank’s stern voice outside the door saying, “No one’s allowed to speak with Mr. Blackthorne except his attorney.”

  “I am his attorney,” a confident voice replied.

  Libby looked at Clay, a brow cocked in question, and he said, “That sounds like Morgan.”

  Clay stepped to the door and pulled it open. “I’m so glad you’re here, Morgan.” He reached out and shook the hand of a man who was blond like Drew, but without Drew’s height or good looks.

  Morgan DeWitt’s smile was friendly and confident. Libby could easily imagine him as Clay’s chief of staff, making sure Clay’s orders got carried out. His tie was pulled up tight, his alligator belt and wingtip shoes looked new, and his tailored gray suit looked expensive but not ostentatious. He was just tall enough not to be labeled short, and he made no attempt to hide the fact his hairline was receding.

  “If this guy’s your attorney,” Hank said, “who’s that behind him?”

  Morgan stepped aside to reveal an absolutely stunning auburn-haired woman wearing a classic black Chanel suit and Manolo Blahnik high heels.

  “Jocelyn!” Clay exclaimed.

  Libby stood back as the statuesque young woman threw herself into Clay’s arms.

  “Clay! I’ve been so worried about you.”

  Clay met Libby’s eyes over the beautiful young woman’s head and said, “This is Jocelyn Montrose. Giselle’s younger sister.”

  Jocelyn turned toward Libby, dabbing with a lace handkerchief at the tears in the corners of her beautiful violet eyes. Libby hadn’t believed eyes could be that color purple, but Jocelyn’s were. The woman’s accent, a combination of crisp New England and seductive Paris, France, made her sound sophisticated and exotic, and the raspy texture of her voice raised the hairs on Libby’s nape.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Libby,” Jocelyn said. “Clay and Giselle have told me so much about you and Kate.”

  Of course Clay’s late wife had known about Kate’s relationship to her husband. It appeared that Jocelyn did, too. Libby glanced at Morgan DeWitt and realized he must know, as well. Clay couldn’t have traveled to Jackson so often without explaining to his chief of staff why he was going there.

  Libby worked hard to keep the frown from her face. How many people were aware of Clay’s relationship with Kate? Was that how the kidnappers had known to take her? Had someone revealed Clay’s secret to some enemy of his?

  Jocelyn turned back to Clay and said, “Your father and mother were nice enough to give Morgan and me a ride here in their private jet. Now all I need is a place to stay. With all the reporters in town, there isn’t a free room any closer than Pinedale.”

  “There’s room at Forgotten Valley, but Drew and I are both staying there, so you’d be stuck with a couple of bachelors.”

  “I have an extra room,” Libby heard herself offer.

  “Oh,” Jocelyn said.

  Libby found herself the focus of the young woman’s disconcerting violet eyes. “You’re welcome to use my guest room until you can find another place.”

  “You’re so kind,” Jocelyn said in her cultured voice. “Thank you.”

  Libby didn’t want to like Jocelyn Montrose. The young woman was far too beautiful and sophisticated and charming—all the qualities Clay Blackthorne needed in a wife. She already seemed to have Clay’s attention, and his affection, if that greeting was anything to judge by.

  “Did Wilkerson agree to call a bail hearing?” Morgan asked Clay.

  “At ten this morning,” Clay replied. “Drew’s acting as my attorney.”

  Libby saw one of Morgan’s eyelids flicker before he said, “Don’t you think you ought to get a criminal attorney in here to represent you?”

  “I can do that once I’m out of jail,” Clay said.

  “I can see we’ve interrupted you,” Jocelyn said to Clay. “Morgan and I can wait outside while you finish your conversation with Libby.”

  “There are a lot of reporters in front of the building,” Libby said. “You might want to go out the back way.”

  “I can give Jocelyn a ride to your house and wait for you there,” Morgan offered. “If you give me directions.”

  While Libby gave Morgan directions, she was aware of Jocelyn leaning up to whisper in Clay’s ear. She felt the green-eyed monster awaken in her breast and did her best to beat it back down.

  “I’ll see you later, Jocelyn,” Clay said.

  “Au revoir,”the statuesque woman said.

  Hank stuck his head in the door after Jocelyn and Morgan had left and said, “You two about done?”

  “One more minute please, Hank,” Libby said. When Hank was gone, Libby turned to Clay and said, “She’s very beautiful. Are you going to marry her?”

  Clay laughed a little too heartily. “She’s my late wife’s little sister. We’re just friends.”

  “Friends don’t fly halfway across the country in the middle of the night to see someone accused of murder,” Libby said. “She’s in love with you.”

  “Maybe she is,” Clay conceded. “That doesn’t mean I have the same feelings for her.”

  “Don’t you?” Libby asked.

  Clay put his hands
on her shoulders but Libby stiffened when he tried to pull her close. “We can talk about this when I get out of here.”

  “What if you don’t get out of here?”

  “There’s no chance of that,” Clay said. “I’m a public figure. I have no reason to run. I have property in this community and—”

  “You were found in bed with a dead woman. That’s rather difficult to explain away. What makes you think this judge will let a suspected murderer out on bail?”

  Clay’s lips curved in a sardonic smile. “My father’s a good friend of the judge.”

  Libby met his gaze and said, “So is mine.”

  “They’ve faced off before and my dad has come up the winner,” Clay pointed out.

  “My father’s been waiting for a chance like this for a long time. He won’t let the opportunity to punish you slip through his fingers.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see how things turn out.”

  “That’s enough,” Hank said, pushing the door open. “Come on out of there, Libby.”

  “Good luck at the hearing,” Libby said as she backed out of the cell.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Clay replied. “I’ll be out of here by—”

  The cell door slammed before he finished speaking.

  15

  A fierce argument outside the canvas walls woke Kate. There was enough morning light to see her hand in front of her face, which meant she’d survived her second cold, terrifying night of captivity. She scooted across the rough wooden floor on her hands and knees toward the drafty, boarded-up window, where the raucous sound was loudest, and listened hard.

  “How the hell have you managed to get everything so fucked up?” a harsh male voice demanded. “Why wasn’t that girl’s body removed immediately? You’ve ruined everything!”

  Body?Kate thought. Lourdes’s body? Is Lourdes dead? Her heart began to pound.

  “He was drugged,” a gruff male voice replied. “How could I know he’d wake up so soon? None of the others did.”

  “That’s your job,” the harsh voice said. “You kill the girl, take pictures of the man and the dead girl in bed, and get rid of the girl. It’s that simple.”

  “If it’s so simple,” the gruff voice replied, “why don’t you do it yourself next time?”