by Joanna Wayne
“What do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know. That’s why it’s exploratory.”
Excitement battled with doubt. “Isn’t breaking into someone’s office illegal?”
“We’re not breaking in. We’re invited guests. If someone asks me what we’re doing in that part of the house, I’ll explain that we were looking for a little privacy.” His eyes danced with devilment. “I’ll tell them you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“Why not? It’s half true.”
“It’s you who can’t keep your hands off me.”
“That’s the other half. Now take my arm and smile a lot. We’ll go in the back door and take the hall off the den. Don’t worry. Most of the people are outside where the food is.”
Heather followed his instructions, the adrenaline rush making it easy to smile but hard to speak intelligently when Ben Wright stopped them to ask about Paul Ridgely and whether or not Matt was close to arresting a suspect in the stabbing incident.
Matt gave him a quick update on Paul’s condition, but dodged the rest of the questions in his easy cowboy manner, short sentences that sounded friendly but said nothing. She followed him to the back of the house where a fiddler was tuning his instrument and a tall, skinny guitarist was adjusting a microphone.
“The dance band is warming up,” Matt announced, pushing through the back door and into the cool interior of the house. “That should keep Logan busy. He loves to show off his fancy two-steppin’.”
A couple of teenaged girls were giggling in the den. They didn’t give Matt or Heather a second look. The hall was empty. Matt stopped at the door to the office and jiggled the knob. The door opened, and Matt stepped inside. His gaze traveled and settled on a window. He walked over and unlocked it, sliding it up a few inches and then shutting it again.
“An escape hatch in case I need it,” Matt explained, walking back to the door. “Hang out in the hall. If you see Logan, call to him, loudly, so that I know he’s around. Then keep him talking long enough for me to climb out the window.”
“What if someone sees you?”
“I’ll chance it, but it’s not likely. The window’s on the east side, and there aren’t any tables of food set up there. Besides, we’re not breaking and entering. We’re invited guests. Now, are you clear on everything?”
“All clear.” Heather swallowed a lump of fear. “This is my first lookout.”
“Watch it. It gets in your blood. You might want to give up your job and become a Ranger.”
“Not likely. My associates don’t carry guns.”
“You’ve got a point.” Matt kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I’m counting on you, partner.” He steered her away from the door with a hand on the back of her waist and then shut himself inside the office.
Apprehension balled inside Heather the first dozen or more times the back door opened. After that, she grew lax and weary of waiting. She tapped on the door. “Matt.”
The door squeaked open. “What is it?”
“You’ve been in there so long I was starting to get worried.”
“Look at this.”
Heather scanned the file he stuck in front of her. “It’s an insurance claim on Logan’s wife.”
“Right. The insurance company demanded an autopsy to prove the cause of death was accidental. Logan refused the autopsy, even though it meant losing two hundred thousand dollars.”
“That seems strange.”
“It got my attention. I need a few more minutes in here. If Logan shows up, stall him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Flirt. Ask questions. Do whatever you have to. Just buy me enough time to check the rest of these files.”
Matt disappeared behind the closed door again. Heather paced nervously. It was clear she had the least exciting part of this mission. She had half a mind to forget Logan and go help Matt.
What would Logan do if he did find them inside? Shoot them? At the thought, images of Ariana’s dead body filtered through her mind. Someone in this town would shoot to keep their secrets. But Logan? Not likely. He just seemed too much the gentleman.
She leaned against the wall, her toe tapping to the music that drifted in from the band stand. Suddenly, the back door swung open and Logan Trenton stepped inside. Unlike the others who’d come in, he noticed her immediately.
“Logan, I’ve been looking for you.” She said his name extra loudly so that her voice would carry through the closed door. Her breath caught in her throat as he hurried toward her, the smile on his face not hiding his surprise at seeing her there.
“Well, you’ve found me, or I’ve found you. Now how can I be of service?”
“I wanted to tell you how much I’m enjoying the party. And—” she moved closer, the skirt she’d bought at Ridgely’s store swishing about her legs “—I’d hoped to persuade you to dance with me. I heard you’re terrific at the Texas two-step, and I’ve never danced it with a real cowboy.”
He tipped his hat and smiled. “I’d like nothing better, but first I have to get something out of my office.”
“Surely you wouldn’t put me off to take care of business. Not at such a great party.” Heather batted her eyes in what she hoped was a coquettish manner. Flagrant flirting wasn’t part of her usual repertoire, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“It flatters me to think you’re that anxious. I’ll take care of business quick.” His stepped toward the door.
Faint, yell fire, throw myself into his arms. The options flashed through her brain. Instead she grabbed his arm. “Please, Logan, that’s my favorite song. I’d hate to miss it.”
He stared at her, his eyebrows at angles that indicated she was overplaying her role. “‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’ isn’t much of a dance number. Besides, it’s almost over. We’ll request a much better tune when I’m finished.” He pushed the door open and walked inside.
Heather took a deep breath and waited. A minute later, Logan was back at her side, sliding a slender envelope into the inside pocket of his Western-cut jacket. She glimpsed the silver handle of a pistol peeking from a shoulder holster.
He took her arm. “Now, shall we dance?”
“Yes.” It was all the answer she could manage, and it came out in a shaky whisper. Evidently Matt had made a quick, unnoticed escape through the window. Her relief was short-lived. Logan was leading her the wrong way, down the hall, away from the back door.
She stopped walking. “The band is outside.”
He circled her waist with his arm. “Don’t worry, the party will be going strong for hours. I have something I’d like to show you.”
“No.” She tried unsuccessfully to pull from his grasp.
“Logan, there you are.”
He whirled around. Heather breathed a sigh of relief as she spied Sylvia rushing down the hallway.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’m a very popular man tonight.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” Anger burned in Sylvia’s eyes, her muscles drawn tight in her face and neck. “I was at the cemetery a few minutes ago. Someone has dug up the area around my mother’s grave. I’d like to know why.”
“Probably just vandalism—but we’ll talk later, Sylvia. This is a party, in your honor I might add. And right now Miss Lombardi has asked me to dance.” He took Heather’s arm again, practically dragging her down the hall, but at least this time they were going in the right direction.
The afternoon sun had vanished, leaving the yard in dusky shades of twilight. The air was still filled with laughter, music, tinkling glasses, and the odor of barbecue. Logan took her hand, leading her to the center of the sawdust-covered dance floor. She searched the crowd for Matt, but there was no sign of him.
The music started, and Logan fell into perfect step. He made her look good, leading her into twirls and guiding her around the floor with practiced steps. His boots
seemed to only brush the ground, and he whispered in her ear that had he known she was such a wonderful partner, he wouldn’t have even stopped at his office, much less considered wasting time showing her a painting he’d just purchased in Santa Fe.
He was charming, the perfect gentleman. Heather wondered how she could have imagined that he had been luring her to the back of the house for sinister purposes. Had the events of the last few days made her see danger in innocent events, made her think everyone she saw was a potential murderer?
For a brief second she wished she was back in Atlanta in her cool, gray office of glass and polished wood. Wished she’d never come to Dry Creek at all. Wished she’d never tried to find anyone from her distant past.
The next second, Matt was making his way through the field of dancers toward them. His light blue yoked shirt was open at the neck, his dark hair rumpled by the wind, his smile devastating. And all Heather’s wishes to be back in Georgia evaporated the moment his gaze met hers.
He tapped Logan on the shoulder. “You can’t hog all the beautiful women. You have to give us poor lawmen a chance.”
Logan faked a grimace “Don’t you have crimes to solve?”
“Not when there’s a party.”
Heather slid into his arms. The tempo picked up, an upbeat country song. Matt took over where Logan left off, never missing a beat. If he had less expertise than her previous partner, he made up for it in charm. Every young woman they danced by turned positively green with envy.
“I thought you told me you didn’t like ‘boot scooting.’”
“I never said I couldn’t do it. Miss Susan insisted all her boys learn to dance.”
“I like Miss Susan better all the time. So, did you get what you needed from Logan’s office before you made the fast getaway?”
Matt twirled her around and gathered her in his arms. “More than I expected. Are you ready to get out of here? I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the cemetery.”
Heather missed her step, scraping her foot against Matt’s boot. She might have imagined Logan’s motivation a few minutes ago, but the figure she’d glimpsed in the bushes behind the cemetery yesterday had been all too real.
To go back there now, on a dark, moonless night... Her stomach grew queasy, her pulse rapid. “What is it you expect to find in the cemetery? It’s too dark to see anything.”
“I have a flashlight. We’ll see what I need to see.”
“What’s that?” She fought to keep the dread that churned inside her out of her voice.
“I just talked to Sylvia. I have a hunch that her mother’s grave is either empty now or will be soon.”
HEATHER PRESSED CLOSER to Matt as the truck skidded and bumped along the dirt trail. A shovel, borrowed from the back of a pickup truck belonging to one of Logan’s unsuspecting guests, was bouncing around in the bed of the truck.
“You are surely not going to dig up the grave of Logan’s late wife tonight.”
“No, I’d just like to check the condition of the soil. According to Sylvia, it was rock-hard when the two of you were there yesterday. She said it’s loose now, and that the spotty grass covering has been upturned.”
“Why would someone dig up that grave?”
“For the same reason Logan refused to have an autopsy done, to keep anyone from finding out the true cause of death.”
Heather looked up as they approached the narrow bridge that had sent her into spasms the day before. She shuddered and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Matt circled an arm about her shoulders. “What’s the matter? You’re not getting scared on me now, are you?”
“No, I’ve been scared ever since you saved me from the attackers last week.” She took his hand and placed it back on the wheel. “You need both hands to handle this bridge.”
“Nothing to it. I cross bridges like this all the time. This one will hold several tons more than my truck weighs.”
“So I’ve heard.” She closed her eyes as they left the dirt for the rumbling wooden ties. She opened them as the truck came to a jolting stop. “What happened?”
“A few boards must have worked loose. I didn’t see that they were missing in time, and I think both front wheels are stuck in the hole.”
“I thought this bridge could hold tons.”
“Ordinarily it can. Open the door slowly and step out. But watch your step. There’s quite a drop-off.”
“You want me to get out of the truck in the middle of this horrible bridge?”
“That’s the idea.” Matt opened his door and stepped out. Before Heather could follow, the crack of a bullet shattered the night air. Instinctively, she ducked. When she looked up, Matt was nowhere in sight.
Chapter Fourteen
Panic jangled Heather’s thoughts. Do something. Get out. Her mind shouted orders, but her body refused to obey. Finally she slid over to the driver’s side of the door and peered through the window.
Another shot came, this one crashing into the windshield, sending fragments of glass flying into her face and hair. She crouched, brushing away the glass, scrambling to the other side of the car. The passenger door eased open, and her heart jumped to her throat, then plunged in relief. It was Matt.
“Don’t panic.” His voice was surprisingly calm.
“I already have.” Her voice was shaky and high. “What are we going to do?”
“Get out of the car.” He tugged on her arm. “And stay down.”
She managed to climb out the door without getting her head above the roof line and without drawing another shot. She stooped on the wooden bridge, and her gaze settled on the murky waters below. “Now what?”
“We jump.”
“Oh, no. Not me. I’ll just creep back across the bridge.”
“The second you get out from behind this truck, you’re a target for whoever ambushed us.”
“Then let’s stay here. You have a gun. Shoot them.”
“When I count three, we jump.” He took her hand.
“No, I don’t swim.”
“You won’t have to. You can wade out. Heather, you’ve got to. It’s jump or be shot.”
“I don’t like the choices.”
“One, two, three.”
Heather felt herself toppling over the edge, falling too fast to think. The next second she was gasping for breath, water in her face and mouth and nose. Pain shot through her right elbow, and when she tried to get up, she stepped on a sharp rock and slipped back into the creek. “Are you
Matt found her floundering in the water. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.”
“You’re not dead, so keep low, and keep moving. We have to get out of here fast.”
He pulled her along, and she trudged to the shore, water filling her boots and soaking into her full skirt, weighing her down. Once her boot cleared the last gushing hold of the mud, she dropped to the bank.
Matt yanked her back to her feet. “We can’t stay in the open. You’ll have to make it to that cluster of mesquite.”
She forced her legs to keep moving, but evidently not fast enough. A bullet whizzed by her head.
“Run,” Matt yelled, “and don’t look back.”
Gunfire cracked through the air, and Heather’s breath came in sputtering, burning gasps. Finally, she made it to the mesquite and dived under the branches. Matt wasn’t behind her. He was still at the bank of the creek, half hidden behind one of the supporting beams, firing into the dark. He’d stayed behind intentionally, made a target of himself to save her.
The chorus of gunfire ceased for a few seconds, and Matt was on the run, climbing the bank and heading toward her. She wrapped her arms around her own shaking body, fighting the urge to scream until he’d dived in beside her.
He cradled her in his arms, and she held on extra tight. “What do we do now?” she whispered.
“You stay out of sight. I’m going to try and work around, get behind the filthy cowards, see if I can identify anyone.
”
“You can’t. That’s too dangerous. ”
“Heather, this is what I do. I fight the bad guys. It’s my job.”
“Not like this. I feel as if I’m trapped in a poor imitation of some spaghetti Western. Those men have guns.”
He kissed her, more to stop her talking than anything else, she imagined. Then he left her there to wait for him to return. A few minutes later, crashing timbers startled her to attention. She looked up just in time to see Matt’s truck plunge from the bridge into the water.
A second later he was by her side.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No, they drove away before I could get close enough. I saw the beam of their headlights on the dirt.” Matt gathered her in his arms, and for a few minutes they sat in a silence broken only by the hooting of an owl and the sounds of Matt’s truck sinking deeper into the mud beneath the shallow creek.
She leaned into him. “Tell me again how safe that bridge is.”
“It wasn’t the fault of the bridge. This was a planned ambush. Someone cut those ties loose.”
“That couldn’t have been planned for us. No one knew we were leaving the party and going to the cemetery.”
“One person did.”
“Who?”
“The good sheriff. Always helpful. Always insisting he be included in every aspect of this investigation. If I find out that he’s responsible...” Matt picked up a stick and broke it fiercely.
“Gabby couldn’t have done it, Matt. Not by himself. Not in the dark. Not so fast. You only decided to come up here a few minutes ago.”
“Actually, I didn’t just decide to come out here. Gabby and I had already discussed my paying a visit to the cemetery tonight. I wanted to check out why someone was stalking you there yesterday.”
“You told him about that? I haven’t mentioned it to anyone but you, not after the wrangler practically convinced me it was my imagination.”
“No, Gabby knew about it already. Apparently the man who checked out your story told Gabby about it. Gabby followed up on it and found a couple of Logan’s hired hands digging up a grave. Logan showed up about then, and he wasn’t pleased to find the sheriff observing the scene. He put a stop to everything, telling the guys doing the digging that there had been a mistake.”
