“How awful for all of you.” Kam reached over and slid her hand into his. Wes gently squeezed her fingers. For Kam, this touch meant the world. Wes had accepted her story and choices. Now he was opening his heart to her.
“I stayed because I was the oldest and my mother needed me,” Wes said. “When I went to see Doc Jones in Jackson and told him about these nightmares, he diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder. Doc took the time to explain it all and he made me realize that every time our father came after us, we thought we might die. And when you think you’re going to die, more adrenaline and cortisol shoots through your blood.”
“I didn’t know,” Kam murmured sympathetically and continued to hold Wes’s hand. It was warm and strong. She could feel the calluses created by his ranch work. Gazing at his profile, she could sense his grief. How she wanted to hold him and make him feel safe. More than ever, she understood him not going to say goodbye to his dying father. The love between son and parent had died a long time ago.
“I don’t go around sharing my childhood with most people,” Wes admitted, his voice low. Managing a tight smile, he held Kam’s tender blue gaze. “Only with you, Kam. There’s something about you that just makes me want to spill my guts.” Managing a wry laugh, Wes squeezed her hand. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Kam said. She wanted to do more than hold his hand. The expression on Wes’s face tugged at her heart.
“So now that you know you’re Rudd Mason’s daughter, what are you going to do?” Wes asked her. He released her hand, because if he didn’t he was going to draw Kam into his arms and kiss her until they melted into one another. A powerful wave of desire slammed through him, but now was not the time. Not yet, at least. Wes knew he had to get past his father dying, the funeral, seeing his brother and sister and finding out what his mother wanted to do about the ranch.
“Rudd asked me to stay. So did Iris.”
“Is that what you want?”
Kam nodded. “It’s kind of hard for me right now, Wes. All my life, I’ve been a tumbleweed photographer tripping around the world. I kept an apartment in San Diego, but I was there for maybe a few weeks at a time and then I’d be off to another crisis somewhere in the world to take photos.” Shrugging, Kam frowned. “I’m not sure what I want to do right now. I want to stay and build ties with my father. And I dearly love Iris.”
“But Allison and her children are making it rough for you?” Wes guessed and saw from her reaction that he’d hit the mark. Just like her father, Kam disliked dissension. Who didn’t?
“They are, but I’m hoping that will turn down in volume as everyone gets used to me being around.”
“Wise choice,” Wes said. “Do you miss traveling the globe and being at the center of hot spots?”
“Yes and no,” Kam replied. The gentle movement of the swing seemed to make it easier to admit these truths to Wes. Deep down, Kam knew she could trust him with her life. And no man, other than her adopted father, had made her feel so protected. “As I kicked around the globe, I used to wonder if I was trying to find my father. Maybe he was born in whatever country I was visiting. I felt so empty, like a part of me was missing. My adopted mom, Laura, told me that sometimes people like me are vagabonds because we’re trying to find our roots. This analogy rang true for me.”
“Now you have roots,” Wes said softly. “The real question is—do you want to stay rooted in one spot for the rest of your life? Or will you choose something in between? You have a lot of choices.”
“Sometimes I think you’re inside my head,” Kam said, smiling warmly at Wes. “Those are the very questions I’m asking myself right now. I feel the only answer is to stay at the Elkhorn. I’ve been searching for my birth father all my life, and I’ve just found him. I really like him, Wes. I used to have so many dreams about what he might look like, how his voice would sound, what he would do for a living….” She opened her hands and laughed.
“Does Rudd fulfill your dreams?” Wes wondered.
“Oh yes,” Kam said. “That one photo of Rudd at the cattle convention spurred so many dreams of my father being a cowboy. I didn’t dream of him owning the largest spread in Wyoming, of course. For me, his galloping on a horse, looking tall and strong, was enough.”
“Rudd is all of those things. I’ve enjoyed working under his management style. It’s been different from the way my father bossed his cowhands. Rudd has taught me a lot.” Looking over at the corral where all the hands worked with the Herefords, Wes added, “And I’ve come back here and used all that knowledge with them.”
“Does it work?”
“Yeah. They were used to my father screaming and cursing at them. Everyone likes me better.” His mouth crooked into a grin. “Rudd has been a great teacher.”
“I like him so much,” Kam admitted. “All that love I had in my heart that I’d held on to for so many years, is just spilling out toward him and Iris. I feel so lucky! And Iris is the perfect grandmother for me.”
“Yes,” Wes chuckled, “like two peas from the same pod, as they say. Iris isn’t the easiest person to be around. She’s a crusty, independent pioneer woman who built that ranch with her husband. Those two were a force to be reckoned with. Everyone in Wyoming knew them,” Wes said with a smile. “And you and Iris could be sisters of a sort, Kam. That’s how well you get along with one another.”
Kam laughed. “I love Iris so much. She’s taught me a lot about life, business and going after my dreams.” Losing her smile, Kam admitted, “Iris gave me the courage to go to Rudd and tell him the truth. She told me one day how scared she was about turning their herd into organic meat production. I asked her why she was scared. She said because it meant the possibility of losing a lot of cattle without vaccinations. And then, she just looked me straight in the eyes and told me that no matter how scared I got, always to go forward. That the truth of the situation would prove itself sooner or later. Her courage to confront her own fear helped me. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”
“I hope you shared that with her.”
“You bet I did.”
Nodding, Wes said, “Good. Then that means you’re going to be around the Elkhorn for a while longer.”
“Yes.” She saw a strange look in his eyes and couldn’t decipher it at all. Right now, both their lives were upended in different ways.
“Good,” Wes murmured. “Because I want you to stick around.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALLISON WAITED impatiently on a little-used back street in Jackson Hole. She sat in her silver Mercedes and tapped her fingers on the leather covering the steering wheel. The day was bright and sunny. Behind her, major construction on the street stopped a lot of tourists from ambling into the area, which is what Allison counted on. She wanted this meeting to go down without gawking onlookers. Or witnesses.
Shade trees lined the street. Luckily, the last house was a block behind her and beyond the ongoing construction. This street was out of the way and she could have her meeting without prying eyes nearby. Not that there weren’t plenty of Mercedeses in Jackson Hole. There were. Jackson was a little-known place where the rich and famous lived. It was a well-kept secret except for the pricey cars always seen about town. Outsiders didn’t have a clue. Movie stars from Hollywood had second homes here, and that suited Allison. Jackson was just one more connection to the Hollywood business she stubbornly clung to.
A sharp tap on the passenger-side window snapped Allison out of her thoughts. A man in his forties with a neatly clipped black beard entered the car and sat down. He wore casual clothes and looked like one of the many tourists visiting Jackson. Nothing about him stood out.
“It’s about time,” she muttered, looking at the eighteen-carat-gold Cartier watch on her wrist.
“By my watch,” he said, holding up his thick, hairy wrist and glancing at his gold Rolex, “I’m right on time.” Grinning over at Allison he said, “Maybe you’re a little nervous?” He held out his large, squar
e, well-manicured hand. “André Jenkins at your service. I was contacted by our mutual friend who said you needed my professional services.”
Allison glared and then quickly shook his hand. “Allison Mason.”
“What work do you have for me, Ms. Mason?”
Allison pulled a thick envelope from the glove box and handed it to him. The man had a slight European accent. Perhaps French? Swiss? She knew little of this man’s background. “Mr. Jenkins, in there is a picture of the woman I want you to get rid of.” Allison stared at the profile of the man. He didn’t look like an assassin, but when he opened the manila envelope she saw him focus like a predator stalking his next victim. Jenkins intently studied the photo, then he carefully counted the one-thousand-dollar bills. Nervously, Allison tightened her lips as she watched him. Her nerves stretched to the breaking point.
“Very good,” Jenkins finally said, “just as I requested. Fifty thousand dollars in one-thousand dollar bills. That way, there is no way to connect us. Have you hired my type of services before, Ms. Mason?”
“No, I have not.”
“Ah. Very well, let me tell you how I work. As a professional, I remain undercover. André Jenkins is not my real name, but I have all the identification to go with my pseudonym. Cash is harder to trace. Although the numbers on it can be tracked, I doubt you have any reason to do that.”
“I certainly have not written down any of the numbers.”
He tapped the envelope in his lap. “And did the bank raise any eyebrows over you asking for fifty thousand dollars?”
“I have six bank accounts and four of them are in various places in Los Angeles. I took a little from each one. No one said anything. As long as I withdraw less than ten thousand dollars from each, it doesn’t raise any red flags.”
“Very good,” he said, giving her a pleased look.
Allison shivered. The man’s narrow blue eyes were pale with huge black pupils. Again, that sense that he was a stalker and predator washed through her. “The money won’t be traceable. My husband knows nothing of my four bank accounts in Los Angeles. It’s money I put away for whatever I want. And I can account for the twenty thousand in the two accounts he knows about. There won’t be a problem.”
Nodding, the man held up the color photo. “And this is whom?”
“Her name is Kam Trayhern.” Grimly, Allison said, “She’s an interloper in my family. My husband, it turns out, had an illicit affair with a woman twenty-nine years ago. And this woman,” Allison growled, jabbing her index finger at the photo, “who claims she is my husband’s daughter, just walked into our lives four months ago. Unfortunately, DNA has proved her right.”
“Ah,” Jenkins said. “So, she lives with you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“And how do you want her killed?”
Allison scowled. “How the hell do I know? That’s your job.”
Holding up his hand, Jenkins said, “I merely meant, do you want her taken out at the ranch? Or somewhere else?”
“I don’t care!”
“You should. Once I kill her, there is going to be a police investigation.” Looking around, he added, “And, because you live here, no one knows better than you how an accident can occur. What might be an accident you could expect on the ranch?”
Allison thought for a moment. “She rides her horse out on the trails leading into the mountains near our ranch.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And are there places along this trail where I might hide?”
“Many,” Allison said. She felt panicky for a moment. She’d never hired a hit man before. No doubt she was doing the right thing, but she didn’t want to be caught and jailed for having hired Jenkins. “I can draw you a map of the trails.”
“Good. But even better is if I were to come to your ranch in disguise. I have other identity papers with me to go undercover.”
“You could be a last-minute dude-ranch guest. I could arrange the paperwork in the office. No one would think anything of it.”
“That would work,” Jenkins said. “I will show up as Thierry De Bourdeille from Paris, France. That way, I will see Kam Trayhern, know who she is, watch her habits and movements to get an idea of where I could terminate her.”
The word terminate made Allison shiver. Swallowing hard, she whispered in a thin voice, “Good, I’ll put you in as a last-minute guest under that name. I know next week there are three slots available. No one will suspect a thing.”
“No, they won’t.” Jenkins drilled her with a look. “And under no circumstances do you approach me, talk to me or appear to know me. Do you have any duties with dude-ranch guests?”
“No, I don’t. I’ll avoid you completely, don’t worry.”
“Good. I’ll make myself at home for that period of time. After I ‘leave,’ I’ll get what I need to take her out. By that time, I should have a good idea of her habits, what time of day she goes for a ride and where she rides. When is hunting season here?”
Allison saw where he was going with the question. “Elk and deer season start in October. This is August.”
Shrugging, Jenkins said, “Well, there are always poachers. You have elk and deer on your ranch?”
“All over the place. Moose, also.”
“Good. I could use a hunter’s bullet so that when they perform an autopsy, they’ll say it was a poacher hunting elk out of season but that the bullet went astray and killed her.”
“And how will I know when you’ve done this?”
“You won’t. She’ll just turn up missing some evening when she’s supposed to be back at the ranch for dinner. I’m sure your husband will send out a search party. Her horse may come galloping back to the barn without her. If that occurs, they’ll know something happened to her.” He smiled. “But they won’t know what until they find her. How many people know the trails she takes?”
Allison shrugged. “I don’t really know. Usually, Iris gives her permission to have her afternoons free. I usually see Kam ride off every other day or so.”
“I can track where she goes easily enough.”
“So you really know how to track?” Allison inquired.
“Ms. Mason, in my business that is a presumed skill. I’ll know the print of her horse’s hoof and follow it unless she’s in a lot of rocky terrain.”
“The trails are all earth, not rock,” Allison said. She felt lighter. Happier. Obviously, Jenkins—or whatever his real name was—knew his job. “How soon can you do this?”
Shrugging, he said, “Depends upon many variables. I’ll choose a trail and make sure no one else is around. From there, I’ll take my shot. Weather plays a part, as well. I’ll use a silencer so that the sound of the shot won’t be heard unless someone is within twenty feet. And that won’t happen.”
Allison nodded in approval. “Then, this is goodbye, Mr. Jenkins. You’ve got the money. You’ll get paid the other half when Kam is dead. I’ll send it from my L.A. banks to your offshore bank account in Bermuda.” Of course, Jenkins already had three of her major credit cards in case she didn’t pay up afterward. Allison would make sure he got the money transfers instead. She wondered how anyone would renege on paying this hard-looking man with the lifeless eyes. In her imagination, Allison saw the hired assassin stalking and killing her if she didn’t make the final payment.
“Excellent.” He held out his hand to her. “Nice doing business with you, Ms. Mason.”
Taking his hand, Allison felt fear as well as exhilaration. She hoped that within the next two weeks, Kam Trayhern would be out of her life—once and for all. Then, she and her children could settle down and be safe from the threat of the late-comer. Iris wouldn’t change her will, which was all Allison cared about. Never did she want her children to suffer the way she had in order to survive. Obviously, she would even kill to protect them.
Jenkins departed like the shadow he was. Allison sat for a moment, her hands trembling. Compressing her lips, she
started the Mercedes and turned it around. As she took another street to avoid the construction zone, she craved a stiff shot of whiskey.
She had to put a hit on Kam. Iris liked her far too much. It was obvious the old woman doted upon the interloper. Hands opening and closing on the steering wheel, Allison could feel the dampness collecting in her palms. Her heart beat like a runaway freight train. What had she done?
Turning onto a main road, Allison felt suddenly suffocated. She pulled over in the parking lot of a fast-food establishment, turned off the engine and gave in to the shakes. She rubbed her brow and looked at the blue sky and sunshine pouring down upon the town. Everywhere she looked, she saw tourists. They walked and laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. She felt angry and jealous of them.
Allison tried to justify what she’d just set in motion. It wasn’t like her to kill. Oh, she’d fought plenty of tough battles, that was for sure. She’d traded her body untold times to agents, directors and producers. Allison was used to horse-trading to get what she wanted. Hiring a hit man, however, was way out of her normal worldview. And now there was no turning back. She had no way to contact Jenkins. The phone number she’d been given was that of a throwaway cell phone. She’d paid the money, things were in motion and no longer within her control.
Some of the shaking abated as she convinced herself this was the only thing to do. Allison was damned if she would let her children go without money and security.
With a sigh, Allison turned on the engine again so that the air conditioning cooled down the interior of the car. From her poverty-stricken origins, now she sat in a silver Mercedes, married to a man worth millions of dollars. The security she’d wanted so badly was finally hers. Tears came to her eyes and she quickly blotted them away. She could not cry. It would ruin her mascara.
The tears felt hot behind her tightly closed eyes as Allison willed herself not to weep. Crying got her nowhere.
Shadows from the Past Page 17
