Camouflage Cowboy

by Jan Hambright

  “The pickup was empty. The trail’s gone cold.”

  “Damn.” Nick pulled in a breath and released it through his teeth. “Thanks for the call. Something’s going to come up.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to head down to the conference room to try to make myself useful. Talk to you later.”

  The line went dead and Nick closed his phone, then dropped it into his pocket before settling back on the sofa.

  “Bart?”

  “They found the pickup, but nothing else. No driver, no Bart Bellows.”

  “That at least means he’s still out there somewhere. You can pull a measure of hope from that, can’t you?”

  He gazed at her, lost for a second in his desire to hold her again, but he needed to get moving. “I suppose I have to.”

  Fatigue and worry combined in his bloodstream to give him an overwhelming sense of loss where Bart was concerned. Unfortunately he knew the entire team at CSaI was feeling the same kind of helplessness.

  “I’ve gotta get over to headquarters. Nolan is there pounding his head against this thing, and I can’t let him do it alone.”

  “I understand,” she said, pushing up from the couch. “But promise me you’ll take it easy. You still have a concussion.”

  “I will.” He stood up. “Caleb,” he called, and smiled when Caleb hurried out into the living room to see him. “Yeah.”

  “I’m taking off, buddy.”

  Caleb wrapped his arms around Nick’s legs and squeezed him.

  He brushed the top of his head and told him goodbye.

  “See ya, Mister Nick.” He hurried back to his room.

  Grace walked with him to the front door of the condo. “I’m preparing Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night around seven. Will you come and join us?”

  “I’d like that.” He brushed a kiss on her lips, opened the front door and headed out.

  GRACE HUMMED ALONG with the soft-music CD she’d popped into the player while she worked around the kitchen preparing Thanksgiving dinner.

  The yummy smell of rosemary herb-rubbed turkey baking in the oven made her mouth water, and she hoped Nick would like it as much as she did.

  She’d put Caleb down for a nap less than half an hour ago, so he’d be wide-awake to enjoy the festivities when Nick arrived in a couple of hours.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned for the pantry, pulled open the door and looked inside for the bag of potatoes she’d picked up at the grocery store yesterday evening, but she didn’t see them there.

  “Shoot.” She’d probably forgotten to get them out of the trunk of the car last night when she’d pulled in with a sleepy Caleb, and not enough hands to take on the entire load at once.

  Spotting her keys on the bar next to her purse and her cell phone, she snagged them and headed for the garage. In the utility room, she flipped the light switch next to the door and pulled it open, sending a shard of illumination knifing into the dark garage.

  Reaching back around, she flipped the switch a couple of times, but the lightbulb wouldn’t come on. It must have burned out at some point while she was gone.

  Aggravated, she pushed the utility-room door wide-open so she could see into the windowless garage, selected the trunk key and headed for the rear of the car.

  Bending close to the lock, so she could see it better, she fit the key in and popped the latch.

  A hand, cold and brutal, slammed over her mouth, sealing the air in her lungs.

  The copper-penny tang of blood leaked across her tongue where her lower lip split against her teeth.

  She struggled to free herself, but his other hand clamped onto her exposed throat and he began to squeeze.

  “I came all this way, and you didn’t even invite me to dinner, did you?”

  Horror leeched from her bones as the sound of Rodney Marshall’s voice penetrated her eardrums.

  She screamed into his thick palm and lashed out with everything she had.

  He retaliated, ramming a balled fist straight into her solar plexus so hard, she couldn’t pull in her next breath.

  “Save it, bitch,” he whispered. “I’m just getting started.”

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her away from the open trunk of the car and back into the house.

  NICK STARED into the bakery cooler at an array of pies, some of which he’d never even heard of. What the heck was a marionberry anyway? He wished he’d had the foresight to ask what kind Grace liked, but at least he knew she’d enjoy the bundle of fresh gerbera daisies he held in his good hand. He had Faith Scott to thank for that tip.

  A wave of uneasiness surged inside of him and ebbed along his nerve endings. He discounted it and decided to call her and ask.

  He shoved the flowers, stem-end first into his sling, and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He had another hour before he was due at Grace’s place, but maybe he’d head over early with the right kind of pie.

  Working his thumb into the phone, he flipped it open and punched in her number. Five rings later, his call rolled over to voice mail and he left a message, then hung up.

  Odd. He was absolutely certain she was home right now.

  Leaving the flowers in next to his cast, he picked up the marionberry pie and headed for the checkout counter.

  GRACE LISTENED TO CALEB whimper behind his bedroom door and closed her eyes, silently thanking God that Rodney Marshall had locked him inside using the belt from her bathrobe, by tying one end to each opposing doorknob of their bedrooms, so he couldn’t get out.

  A least he didn’t have to see the horror unfolding in the kitchen, as Rodney drew the turkey-carving knife across her throat for a second time, just deep enough to draw blood.

  “You need to pay for what you did, Grace. Troy didn’t deserve to die like a dog. You got away with murder, but I can’t let you do that. What kind of man would I be if I let his death go unchallenged?”

  She swallowed hard against the terror inside of her, feeling rivulets of her own blood make tracks down her chest and soak into her bra.

  “It was an accident, Rodney. I swear I never meant to hurt him.”

  He turned dark eyes on her, and for an instant she thought she saw some sense of sanity warm them, but then it vanished and he raised the knife again.

  NICK FIRED UP the Tahoe’s engine, but didn’t pull out of the grocery store lot. Instead he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone again. Working it open, he hit Redial and let it ring. Again his call went unanswered and rolled over to Grace’s voice mail. He didn’t leave a message this time.

  Something was wrong.

  He could accept her missing his call once. Maybe she’d been taking the bird out of the oven, or stirring the mashed potatoes, but twice?

  Nick closed his phone, put his rig in Drive and gunned it out of the parking lot.

  GRACE LISTENED to her cell phone beep for a second time, signaling a missed call.

  She stared at it from where Rodney Marshall had tied her to one of the dining-room chairs with her hands behind her back, bound in duct tape, her ankles taped to the front legs, and a thick strip across her mouth, so she’d shut up.

  Fighting against the bonds, she tried to work her wrists free, but he’d cinched them tight. She couldn’t move, much less feel her fingers anymore. Her brain was numb.

  Where was Nick?

  The clock on the dining room wall read 6:23 p.m. Rodney had assured her she’d be dead by seven o’clock.

  “Fire. Fire cleanses, Grace. Did you know that?” Rodney asked her as he came through the utility-room door with a red gas can in his hand. “It burns evidence, too. The cops can’t prosecute what they don’t have.”

  He casually tipped the can over and drizzled the floor of the kitchen with it, then worked his way into the living room. “Sure wish I could stay to enjoy dinner with you, Grace. I remember how good your turkey was, but I’ve gotta be back to work the day after tomorrow. I’ve got a hell of a drive in front of me.”

  Terr
or sliced through her as she watched him splash gasoline down the hallway outside of Caleb’s bedroom door. He put the gas can down in front of it, and dug into his pocket to produce a book of matches.

  He was going to burn them both alive?

  Horror consumed her body and soul as she began to scream behind the suffocating tape over her mouth and rock her chair back and forth as hard as she could.

  “It’ll be over soon, Grace, but it won’t be quick. I want you to suffer like Troy suffered, with no one there to save your miserable life.”

  He stepped back through the living room and moved toward the front door.

  “He was my brother, Grace. You didn’t have to murder him. You had a choice that night, just like I have a choice right now.”

  He tore a match out of the book and closed the cover. “I kind of feel bad about Caleb, but he’s suffering, too, with his disease. He’ll be better off leaving this world with you.”

  Rodney turned the knob and pulled the front door open a crack, then struck the match in his hand.

  Grace watched in terror as it flamed to life, then tried to make sense of the explosion of blood and matter that suddenly shot out of Rodney Marshall’s forehead in slow motion.

  She watched the match drop from his fingertips and extinguish before it hit the floor at his feet.

  Rodney Marshall fell forward, as the echo of gunfire assaulted her eardrums.

  Reality smacked into her brain as her chair finally tipped over and she hit the floor.

  Her world went black.

  NICK LOWERED HIS PISTOL and jammed his boot against the partially open front door of Grace’s condo that now had two large-bore pistol rounds drilled through it.

  The overwhelming stink of gasoline immediately put him on alert as he stared down at Rodney Marshall, sprawled facedown on the living-room floor minus the back of his skull.

  He spotted Grace in the dining room, as Sheriff Hale charged up the walk and stepped in behind him.

  Several deputies followed, as Nick hurried to where Grace lay strapped to a chair with her eyes closed.

  “Get an ambulance, Sheriff. She needs help.”

  Nick’s heart squeezed inside his chest, and he went to his knees next to Grace and touched her face.

  “What did he do to you, Grace?” Nick’s breath caught in his throat as he worked the tape off her mouth. He watched her open her eyes and she looked at him.

  “Caleb!” Panic set him back. He climbed to his feet and spotted the crude lock Marshall had put on the bedroom doors.

  “Caleb!” He could hear him crying just behind the door. “Caleb, can you hear me? It’s Mister Nick. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  A deputy was already in the process of untying the belt locking him inside, away from the ugly scene outside, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  “Can you sit with him until we get Grace and Marshall out of here? I don’t want him traumatized any more than he has already been. He doesn’t need to see any of this.”

  The deputy nodded, finished untying the knot and slipped into Caleb’s room to comfort the distraught child.

  Nick hurried back to Grace’s side and set the chair upright, listening to her pull in a deep breath.

  “Caleb?”

  “He’s okay, Grace. An officer is keeping him in his room until we take you both out of here.”

  “Marshall?”

  “Dead. I had the shots and I took them. I should have killed the SOB weeks ago.”

  The sound of sirens filled the air and Grace closed her eyes.

  Secure in the knowledge that Rodney Marshall would never hurt them again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Grace stood next to Governor Lila Lockhart in front of the Twin Harts Mansion, and stared at the row of television cameras amassed and aimed at them both.

  Her body was a tangle of nerves, but she’d been instructed to stand alert and smile. All responses she knew she could handle.

  Glancing past the lenses and faces behind them, she settled her gaze on Nick, where he stood looking strong and handsome in the circular driveway just beyond the madness.

  She’d taken his advice this morning, and worn her black turtleneck sweater to hide the ugly evidence of Rodney Marshall’s assault on her, and the questions that would naturally be generated by it. Soon enough the story would come to light.

  “Good morning,” Lila announced as she stepped behind the impromptu podium set up just in front of the main doors leading into the Twin Harts mansion.

  It seemed a fitting and comfortable setting for an announcement about family, and she planned to take full advantage of it. The political polls in the weeks to come would be her indicator of where she went from this day forward, but she knew in her heart of hearts that right was right, and she was going to do the right thing. Let the chips fall where they may, even if it damaged her bid for the presidency.

  “When I was twenty-two years old, I got pregnant as a college student, and at the urging of my family, I gave that child, a beautiful baby girl named Grace, up for adoption to a loving family.”

  Grace kept her focus on Nick, pulling strength from the reassuring nod he gave her as she listened to Lila relate the story of how they’d come to this point in time. It didn’t matter that some of the facts were glossed over, or went unmentioned. All that mattered now was that Caleb was going to receive his transplant. He was going to live.

  “And so, I will be flying to Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston to donate bone marrow to my grandson in December.”

  A burst of applause erupted, followed by an onslaught of questions from the bank of reporters.

  “I’m sorry, but I won’t be taking any questions this morning. I ask that you respect my family’s privacy and allow us to get to know each other far removed from the press.”

  “Grace.” Lila took her hand, and together they entered the front doors of the house.

  Once inside, Bailey hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Grace. “Welcome to the family.”

  She hugged Bailey back, and turned as Nick slipped inside and moved toward her through the crush of people in the gallery. All she wanted was to feel his arms around her now, and forever, and to head for the ranch where she could relax and heal.

  “Nick told us what happened last night, Grace,” Parker said as he gave her a bear hug. “We’re glad you’re okay.”

  “You must have been terrified,” Bailey added, as she took hold of Grace’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you. We’re family now. Remember that.”

  “Thank you both.”

  The couple left hand in hand, and headed for the dining room, where Grace knew the governor had lunch prepared.

  “Grace,” Lila said after she broke from the small circle of advisors who’d encased her the moment they’d come back into the mansion. “You did a wonderful job, dear.”

  Nick singled Grace out, and rode to her rescue, as he moved in next to her and pressed his hand into the small of her back.

  “I’ve got my staff dissecting my campaign schedule for an opening in early December where the transplant can take place.”

  “Thank you, Lila. You have no idea how much this means to Caleb and me, and Nick.”

  The governor’s smile faded as she reached up and touched her cheek. “I heard about what happened last night. It’s a good thing Agent Cavanaugh showed up when he did.”

  “Yes, it is, and about that, Lila.” She wasn’t sure she was comfortable calling her “mother” just yet, but in time she knew she would. “I’m exhausted. I’d like to pass on lunch and go home if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly, dear. Get some rest. You’ve had a harrowing experience. We’ll speak after the weekend.”

  Grace nodded as Lila pulled her into her arms and hugged her tightly.

  A man in a suit and geek glasses hurried toward them with a broad grin on his face. “Excuse me, Governor, but the blogosphere is going crazy, and it’s all positive
reaction so far.”

  Lila stepped back. “How is that even feasible, Mr. Olson? I haven’t been away from the cameras and microphone for more than ten minutes.”

  In awe of the speed at which her message had been received, deciphered and redistributed, Lila excused herself and walked away, headed presumably for a peek at the response her announcement was generating in cyberspace.

  Nick took Grace’s hand and led her out the back way to where he’d parked the Tahoe beyond the eyes of the press, so they could make a clean getaway without drawing attention.

  He didn’t relax until he had her inside the vehicle and they were pulling out onto the main road for the drive back to the ranch, where Faith and Matteo had volunteered to look after Caleb until their return.

  “You did well back there. How are you holding up?”

  “Well? I didn’t say a single word, as instructed, and I managed to avoid a deer-in-the-headlights stare into all of the cameras.”

  “Mission accomplished.” He wanted to reach over and take her hand, but he needed his single grip on the steering wheel to keep the Tahoe on the road.

  “I talked to Sheriff Hale this morning. He agreed to come out to the ranch on Monday morning to take our statements. There won’t be any need to make an appearance at the station.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for buying me a small reprieve. I’m not sure I’m ready to relive that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence encircled them as Nick spotted the turnoff leading into the back of the ranch, across the open range and to the back of the house. Slowing, he pulled onto the narrow dirt road and crossed the cattle guard, as Grace leaned forward in curiosity and stared through the front windshield.

  “Where are we?”

  “The back route into the ranch.”

  A smile tugged her lips, the first true one he’d seen all morning. “I have our picnic lunch in the back. Caleb made it for me this morning.”