by B. J Daniels
Or at least had something to hide, Chance thought as he looked at the snapshots again, then at Dixie. “So that’s when you decided to dig into your family history.”
She nodded. “You know me so well.”
Didn’t he, though. He’d thought this woman would be a stranger to him, that she would have changed so much he wouldn’t know her. He’d been wrong about that. He wondered what else he might be wrong about.
“So you’ve been trying to find evidence of the people in the photographs.”
She nodded and sat across from him.
“And you believe the two men who attacked you were after your genealogy research,” he said carefully, trying not to make her mad again but hoping to point out how foolish that sounded.
“When the men were ransacking my house, they were looking for my research materials—and my journal.”
He recalled that she’d always kept a journal from the time she was little. Rebecca had teased her about it.
It’s a journal about my life—not a diary about which boy said I was cute, Dixie snapped.
Oh, please, Rebecca said. What does a twelve-year-old have to write about?
“Did they find your journal?” he asked.
“I would assume so. I always kept the original photographs with me in my purse. But I also made copies.”
Smart woman. “Did your journal have information about this in it?”
She nodded, her gaze almost pleading for him to believe her. “Nearly everything I’d found out was in the journal.”
“Nearly everything?” he repeated.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “How much do you know about my mother, Sarah Worth Bonner?”
“Not much. She died when you were a baby.”
“Thirteen months old. Rebecca was five. I think I remember Mother, but I’m not sure it isn’t just something I made up, you know?”
He did. His parents had died when he was nineteen and he still wasn’t sure a lot of the memories weren’t ones he wished had happened.
“Over the years I’ve asked my father, but he always said he didn’t like talking about her because it was too painful. For that reason supposedly, he kept no photographs of her.”
Chance thought of his own daughter and the few cherished photographs he had of her. He wouldn’t have parted with them for anything in this world.
“I started by trying to find out what I could about my mother through the usual sources, birth and death certificates, marriage licenses, social security,” Dixie said, as if warming to her subject. “I found a marriage license and a death certificate, but no birth certificate. Social security had no record of her.”
“Maybe she never worked,” he suggested.
“Everyone has a social security card, but even if for some reason she didn’t, she would definitely have had a birth certificate. That’s not all. My father had told me my mother was an orphan with no siblings.”
“You think this woman in the photograph is her sister.”
Dixie nodded. “I know this doesn’t seem like anything anyone but me would care about, except I found a record of a Glendora Worth. She would have been older than my mother. I remember Uncle Carl once telling me that my mother had been born up north. Glendora Worth was born in Ashton, Idaho.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“There’s more.”
“I suspected there was.”
“When the two men attacked me in the parking garage they were wearing masks, like I told you before. But when they came running out of the house and into the garage as I was getting away, they’d removed their masks and hadn’t bothered to put them back on in their haste to stop me. I recognized one of the men. He works for my father.”
Chance sat up abruptly. “You just mention this now?”
“You didn’t believe that anyone was even trying to kill me. I knew what your reaction would be if I told you my father was behind it.”
“Well, if you think I believe that your father paid two hired guns to kill you so you wouldn’t find out your mother had a sister—”
“See what I mean?” She let out a small bitter laugh and leaped to her feet. He grabbed her arm as she started past him, but she wrestled free and stalked over to the glass doors to the deck. “Don’t you think it breaks my heart to think that my own father might be involved? But, Chance, I went to him when I found the photographs. I showed him what I’d found. He’s the only person who knew.”
He watched her place her forehead against the window, her breath condensing on the glass.
“Dixie, you have to admit, this sounds crazy,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “It’s just hard to believe that even if there was some deep, dark secret in your family, that anyone would have you killed to keep it quiet.”
She didn’t turn around, her voice was muffled. “You know how my father is. He does whatever he has to. I thought you would believe me since you know him. You know what he’s capable of.”
“Your father isn’t responsible for breaking me and Rebecca up,” he said.
“No,” she said, turning from the window. “But he was responsible for getting you to Montana, wasn’t he? You think that first job on the ranch just happened to open when you needed it? Or that scholarship to Montana State University?”
He stared at her. He’d always suspected Bonner was behind it. Things had worked out a little too well. “If you’re insinuating that he got rid of me—”
“I’m telling you that he sold you down the river,” she said, stepping toward him, settling those big blue eyes on him. “Daddy was all for Rebecca marrying Oliver and we all know why.”
“It doesn’t matter. Rebecca and I would never have gotten married even if I’d stayed in Texas,” he said, knowing in his heart it was true.
She nodded. “I agree. But it shows how low my father will stoop to get what he wants. He sold off Rebecca to further the Bonner name. You think he’d let anyone sully that name after everything he’s done to get where he is today? Especially since he’s about to throw his hat into the political ring.”
Chance shook his head, not wanting to believe it. Hadn’t Bonner warned him not to believe anything Dixie told him?
Dixie nodded and smiled as if sensing that even against his will he was starting to believe her. “I start digging into my family’s background and now someone is trying to kill me. So, you still believe the two aren’t connected and that my father isn’t involved?”
Chapter Nine
“Hello, Mr. Lancaster.”
Oliver was feeling better by the time he reached the club. He’d managed to put off thinking about the future. At least for tonight.
Rebecca had plans. What did it matter who they were with? He just needed to concentrate on the problem at hand—winning twenty-five thousand dollars.
“Your coat, Mr. Lancaster?”
He let the man help him out of his coat and get him a drink, thankful that men’s clubs still existed, albeit underground. Otherwise some woman would protest and the next thing you knew, the place would be full of them and everything would be ruined.
“Any interesting games going on?” he asked as he took the drink. He didn’t even have to tell the man what he drank. So much better than home where Rebecca was often out of his favorite.
No, he thought, looking around at the exquisite furnishings, this was his true home.
“I believe there is a game in the Ashbury Room that you might enjoy, sir.”
Oliver smiled and asked for an advance, giving the man a hundred dollar bill before heading to the Ashbury Room.
He felt lucky tonight. At least he hoped so. If his luck didn’t change soon, he would have no recourse but to do something desperate.
DIXIE COULD SEE that Chance was having the same trouble she was, trying to understand what she’d found—and why it had put her life in jeopardy.
“Before you tell me I’m crazy, you should know. Glendora Worth is still alive. From what I’ve been able to find out, her name is Glendor
a Ferris now.” Dixie hesitated, bracing herself for his reaction to the rest of the news. “She’s widowed and living in an apartment for elderly people in Livingston.”
“Montana?”
She nodded. “Don’t give me that look. I came to Montana to hire you just like I said. It’s not my fault Glendora Worth Ferris just happens to live here.”
“So what did she say when you saw her?”
Dixie shook her head. “I haven’t yet. I wanted you to go with me. To keep me safe.” She glanced at him. “Okay, I didn’t want to go alone. Are you happy?”
He smiled. “You were smart to wait. If you’re right…” He stopped as if catching himself. “I’m not saying I’m buying any of this—especially the part about your father trying to have you killed, okay? And you can’t be certain this Glendora Worth is your mother’s sister, right?”
“No. But what if she is?”
“Then you would have an aunt you knew nothing about,” he said. “But it wouldn’t give anyone a motive to want you dead. This isn’t much of a secret, Dix. So you have an aunt.”
“And a brother who died.”
“Did you find any record of a Beauregard Bonner Junior?”
“No,” she had to admit.
Chance raised a brow as if that proved something.
“That’s why I have to see this woman. If she really is my aunt, maybe she can provide the answers I need.”
His gaze locked with hers. “What if your father is trying to protect you?”
“By having me killed?”
“I’m serious, Dixie. Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t want you to know about this.” He waved a hand through the air. “Maybe it’s painful. Or dangerous.”
She laughed. “Apparently it is. You still don’t believe I was abducted in Texas, do you? You think I made it all up? Why would I do that?”
“To involve me in this.”
Her heart was beating too hard, her pulse loud in her ears. “I can’t believe you. I knew my father would try to find a way to stop me from getting to Glendora. I just never dreamed it would be you.” She picked up the photographs and put them back in her purse. “I think I’ll turn in early. I haven’t had much sleep the last few days.”
“Dixie.”
She started toward her room, but turned to look back at him. “By the way, you didn’t use the lodge phone to call my father, did you?”
He looked surprised.
“Because if you did, then he knows where we are.” She nodded. “You just signed my death warrant.”
CARL BONNER STOOD behind the two-way mirror that allowed him to look into the Ashbury Room and watch the poker game—and Oliver Lancaster.
Carl had kept an eye on Oliver from the first. Not that he’d told Beau. He watched Oliver dig himself a hole the arrogant bastard would never be able to climb out of.
“How much has he lost?” Carl asked the man who’d let him into this room.
“Tonight? Over a hundred thousand.”
Carl said nothing as he mentally totaled just how deep Oliver was down. And the fool kept playing, like all gamblers, believing eventually he would win.
He’d never liked Oliver and over the years had grown to despise him. Oliver was a lousy husband and father. Carl was tired of seeing the man hurt Rebecca.
Carl watched Oliver sweat. Beauregard paid Oliver well, but not well enough to lose this kind of money almost every night of the week. Oliver had to be getting desperate to cover his compulsive gambling—and his debts. He couldn’t go to Beauregard. Nor Rebecca.
So who did that leave poor Oliver?
Ace, Carl thought, with a smile. Only Oliver would be stupid enough to go to a known criminal for help.
“Put more pressure on him,” Carl told the man waiting next to him. “Let him play, though. Don’t worry, I’ll see that he meets his obligations.”
“As you say, sir.”
Yes, Carl thought as he left. As I say. Carl turned and saw another window, this one into the Bradbury Room. Like other nights he’d come here to check on Oliver, Carl saw Mason sitting at one of the poker tables.
“What about Mr. Roberts?” Carl asked.
The man hesitated and Carl had to look hard at him for a moment before the man said, “He enjoys a good game. He wins some, loses some. He always quits before he loses too much.”
Yes, that sounded just like Mason. Careful. But still a gambler at heart.
“You can tell a lot about a man by the way he plays cards, don’t you think?” Carl said.
“Yes, sir. I assume that’s why you don’t play.”
Carl laughed. Life was enough of a gamble, he thought as he followed the man out. Not that a man didn’t have to take chances. Otherwise, he was doomed to live a truly mediocre existence. No one knew that better than Carl Bonner. He remembered the day that he’d changed his luck and his life so many years before—with just one roll of the dice.
CHANCE STARED AT Dixie’s closed bedroom door and told himself that she was just being dramatic. While the family photographs were intriguing, he still didn’t believe Bonner was behind any threat to his daughter over some old snapshots.
So why couldn’t he quit mentally kicking himself for calling Bonner on the lodge phone? Beauregard Bonner was a lot of things. But a killer?
Chance swore, the cold December night pressing against the windows as he saw a few lights glitter in the distance.
Hell, he was a professional and right now he felt like a damned amateur. What if Dixie was right and he’d put her life in jeopardy?
Worse, he was starting to believe her.
What bothered him was how easily he’d bought into what Bonner had told him about Dixie. That and the fact that she was his daughter. That’s why Chance had given Dixie the room with a window, but no way out other than the door she’d just closed.
“Hell, what if she’s right?” he asked himself again as he checked to make sure the doors were locked before going to his room. He left the bedroom door open. It was that darned suspicious nature of his.
It was going to be a long night. He hadn’t gotten that much sleep last night after seeing Bonner and taking this job against his better judgment. He would have loved nothing better than a hot shower, but he opted for a bath, leaving the bathroom door open so he could hear Dixie if she tried to leave.
The hot water felt good. He tried to relax. Less than forty-eight hours and Bonner would send a jet for his daughter.
Chance had always prided himself on the fact that he could read people pretty well. But he had to admit there was too much water under the bridge to do that with Beauregard Bonner. Because he didn’t trust him, he tended to go the other way and cut him more slack than he probably should have.
As for Dixie… Just the thought of her stirred emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone deal with. He remembered earlier, her leaning over him, that light kiss on his mouth—
Standing up in the bath water, he turned the water to cold and stood under it. Although painful, the cold shower did the trick. He turned it off and got out.
Toweling dry he smiled at his own foolishness. The woman knew the affect she had on him. Had on a lot of men. Like her almost-fiancé, who had also followed her to Montana.
Or been sent by Beauregard Bonner?
Chance hated to think how Bonner had set him up all those years ago. The job in Montana. The scholarship. It was hard to be angry. Chance was thankful for the life he enjoyed now. But it did remind him how Bonner operated.
He pulled on his jeans and sprawled on the bed. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep now even if he wanted to. He couldn’t get Dixie off his mind. Wasn’t there a song like that in Texas?
He got up, too restless to even lie on the bed. Keeping his eye on Dixie’s closed bedroom door, he pulled on his coat and went out on the deck. He made a couple of calls, using his usual sources to get confidential information that the average person couldn’t access.
There was a Glendora Ferris
living in Livingston, just as Dixie had said. A couple more inquiries and he had her maiden name: Worth. The same as Dixie’s mother’s maiden name. The same information Dixie had gotten.
Was it possible Glendora really was Sarah’s sister? More to the point, was there some deep, dark family secret that Dixie had stumbled across that someone was determined she would take to her grave?
He swore again as he stepped back in from the cold, closed the deck door and walked over to tap on Dixie’s bedroom door. He figured she wouldn’t be asleep yet.
“Yes?”
“If you want, we could go to Livingston first thing in the morning and talk to Glendora Ferris.” He didn’t have to add that the woman could have moved, might be senile, might not even be the right Worth. Nor did he have to tell Dixie that he wasn’t anxious to get involved any further in this.
He heard a surprised sound on the other side of the door, could almost hear her smile. He started to step away from the door.
“Chance?”
“Yeah?” he said, moving back to the door again.
“Thank you.”
He touched the door with the tips of his fingers. “Yeah.”
NOT LONG AFTER midnight, Chance heard the lodge room door open and close quietly. He glanced at the clock, gave her a few seconds, then picked up his gun.
He had stayed dressed in his jeans expecting something like this. And yet, he couldn’t help being surprised. And disappointed. He’d started to buy into her story. He’d even agreed to take her to talk to Glendora Ferris. So had it all been just a ruse?
He pulled on his coat and boots. Opening the door quietly, he peered out. Dixie tiptoed down the hallway dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, no shoes.
He frowned. No shoes? Where was she going barefoot in December in Montana?
She had something tucked under her arm.
He waited until she turned the corner before he went after her. At the L in the hallway, he stopped to peer around the corner. She stood at the door to the hot springs outdoor pool. Even from where he was he could see that the pool was clearly marked closed for the night.
He watched her with interest since he suspected the door to the pool was kept locked at night.
