by Sheryl Lynn
Tim returned to the room, with a paper cup of coffee. As he approached the foot of the bed, Joey shut his eyes.
“Joey? Joey, talk to me. I know you’re awake. Joey? Tim, call the doctor.”
Reb knows.
Knows what? she wanted to scream. But Joey wasn’t talking. Even when Dr. Nelson declared Joey conscious, he refused to open his eyes or speak. Emily stepped back and kept a surreptitious eye on the deputy. It occurred to her Joey had waited for Tim to leave the room before he spoke.
Had Joey been telling her not to trust the sheriff-or Reb?
“You’re awake,” Dr. Nelson stated. He lifted Joey’s hand and let it drop back on the bed. “Quit playing possum, young man. Do you want me declaring you brain damaged? I’ll send you to Denver. They’ve got so many tests to run you’ll look like a pincushion by the time you get out. Now, stop fooling around.”
Joey opened one eye. It looked much clearer than it had before.
“I thought so,” the doctor said, shooting Emily a triumphant grin. “Now, Emily, my wife is in my office. She brought me some good coffee and a nice chicken pot pie. While I’m poking and prodding your brother, you go get yourself something to eat. Deputy Tim, that’s the same prescription for you. Both of you look dog tired.”
“I need to take his statement,” Tim said.
“It can wait. Go on now. Shoo.”
Tim and Emily obeyed the doctor and left the room. At seeing Jennifer entering the ladies’ room, Emily formed an idea. She followed the nurse.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes?” she replied from a stall.
“Can I ask you a huge favor? My clothes are damp,
I don’t have my purse and there’s no telling when I’ll see my car. I need to get home. Can I borrow your car? I won’t be long, I promise.”
“Sure.”
Dumbfounded by the generosity, Emily widened her eyes. “You don’t mind?”
“I can trust you not to wreck it, right?” The toilet flushed, and the young woman appeared, smiling broadly. “That’s why I really love small towns. Safe streets, everybody knows everybody else. You can do a favor without worrying about packs of lawyers checking the fine print.” She waved a hand in an expansive gesture. “I am more than happy to loan you my car.”
“You’re a peach, Jennifer. We will definitely have to make a date.”
“We’ll do that. And you can give me pointers on how to make a date with Mickey Thigpen. I know he’s kind of old, but lordy, lordy, what a hunk. Have you noticed how he looks like Sam Elliott? You know, the actor with the cool voice?”
“It’s a deal.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emily parked Jennifer’s little Honda next to the house, then remained inside the car as she looked around the ranch. Joey’s truck was parked in its usual spot under the cottonwood tree. Snow had slid off the steep barn roof in sheets. Chickens, feathers fluffed against the cold, pecked listlessly at the sodden ground. The house and bunkhouse were dark, lifeless.
She hadn’t the faintest idea about what she was going to say to Reb.
She slowly left the car and used both hands to close the door. She called, “Reb?” Not even Copper answered. When the dog failed to appear, she guessed he was out with Reb.
“Are you looking for Tuff?” she murmured.
Itching with apprehension, she checked the garage. Her car was parked inside. She then peeked inside the old storage shed where Reb had left his Jeep. It sat under a tarpaulin. She looked in the barn next. All the horses were inside their stalls. She petted Jack, silently thanking him for bringing her home. Listening, nerves prickling, half expecting Tuff to leap from the hayloft, she went to the end of the aisle and the last stall.
The bucket where Reb had placed the money Copper had found was empty.
Perhaps Reb was with Claude, she reasoned. She headed for the bunkhouse. The voice of conscience called her a snoop and an idiot—but Reb knew something. What exactly, she had to find out.
The first thing she noticed was how the plank flooring was free of dust and dirt. The iron-frame bed where Reb slept was neatly made. She focused on the army green footlocker on the floor at the foot of the bed. A padlock held the lid fastened.
The enormity of what she meant to do almost caused her to turn around and leave. She didn’t trust Reb. She couldn’t trust him. The pain of impending betrayal, whether his or hers, made her stomach ache. But the padlock drew her. It was a lock to keep his secrets safe—secrets about her and Joey and Tuff. She made herself move. She crouched in front of the footlocker and examined the lock. It was heavy-duty with a reinforced-steel shank.
Spying on Reb was all wrong. She trusted him, she loved him and she owed him for saving Joey’s life. He was her friend, her lover, standing by her, helping her, supporting her, offering his strength. Yes, she’d fallen in love with Reb Tremaine, and believed every word he said. She looked around for something with which to break into the footlocker.
Several of the beds were dismantled, the pieces stacked neatly against the wall. She picked up an iron support slat and weighed it in her hands.
Reb would never forgive her for this, she knew. She’d invaded his privacy, and once she broke into the locker, she’d break his trust, too. Except he knew something, and Joey knew he knew.
She worked the end of the slat under the hasp and levered the brads out of the wood. Each piece of splintered wood echoed her splintered heart. She raised the lid.
The locker contained a dark gray felt dress hat and a pair of shiny cowboy boots. At first glimpse, she gasped, knowing her suspicions were wrong. These were merely Reb’s personal possessions.
She lifted the hat and realized the bottom board of the locker was removable. After setting the hat and boots carefully aside, she stuck her fingers inside a pair of holes and lifted the false bottom.
She understood how archaeologists must feel after uncovering a layer of dirt and rock to find evidence of another world. Only, she doubted scientists ever felt as sick about their discoveries as she did about hers.
She picked up a round leather case and unsnapped it. She shook a pair of steel handcuffs free. An odd accessory for a cowboy.
The gun was even odder. The make was unfamiliar to her, but she knew it was an automatic small enough to conceal in a pocket or boot top. Its dull black finish made it look like a toy, but its heft proclaimed nothing playful in the least. She kept her fingers well away from the trigger.
The locker also contained a telephone, a little folding job small enough to slip into a shirt pocket. She pressed the on-off button, and the dialing face glowed green, telling her the battery was charged and ready. She pushed her finger through a collection of microcassette tapes and spools of wire. Among the high-tech items was a low-tech plastic bag containing a goodly amount of dried plant matter. Marijuana, she guessed.
“What are you doing, Emily?”
She dropped the phone, fumbled with the gun and spun around on her knees so quickly she lost her balance and sat down hard. She grabbed the gun with both hands and pointed it at Reb.
Backlit by the open doorway, his silhouette loomed, huge and dark and menacing. The shadow under his hat brim masked his expression. He held the shotgun loosely in his right hand, the muzzle pointed at the floor.
“You better put that down before you hurt somebody,” he said mildly. He bent gracefully at the knees and laid the shotgun on the floor. He raised his hands so she could see his palms. “I guess it’s time we talked.”
Keeping the weapon pointed straight at his chest, she awkwardly worked her feet under her and stood.
“So you can tell me more lies?” Fear clamped iron bands around her ribs. Her arms trembled with the effort it took to keep the gun steady. Still, she wanted to believe him, wanted to put the gun down and ask him reasonably for the truth.
“I put mine down, put down yours. I won’t hurt you. I promise. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Not a chance. You’re a d
ope dealer, aren’t you? You’ve been stringing me along so you can find Tuff’s drugs before he got out of jail.”
“No. The bag of dope isn’t mine. I found it in your house. It probably belongs to Tuff. I left his paraphernalia in the house. It’s in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Scale, sandwich bags, the works. But that’s penny-ante stuff. We have a bigger problem right now. Tuff is involved in heavier stuff.”
She understood his words, but couldn’t grasp his meaning.
“I searched your house the day you went to Grand Junction.”
“For what? The duffel bag? That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
His simple reply turned her cold inside. Her hands were sweating on the gun, making the metal feel like slippery gelatin. Uncertain what to do, but having to do something, she crouched next to the footlocker and felt around with one hand until she found the handcuffs. She tossed them onto the bed. Backing away from the bed, she jerked her head to the side. “Move slowly, onto the bed. Handcuff yourself to the frame.”
He glided across the floor, his boots making no sound. His blue eyes revealed neither fear nor anger. Aware of both his strength and quickness, she backed away, keeping a safe distance between them. He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Do it, Reb. Or—or—or I’ll shoot you in the leg! I mean it.”
He obeyed, cuffing his left wrist with a swift, expert snap and then attaching the other cuff to the wrought-iron headboard. Her heart pounded, and her mouth filled with an unpleasant metallic taste. Instead of easing her fear, his helplessness heightened it.
The old bed creaked as he shifted on the edge of the mattress. With his free hand he removed his hat and placed it on the bed beside him. Casual as a cat, he raked a hand through his hair, moving it off his face.
He smiled ruefully at her. “Next time you hold a gun on a man, I suggest you release the safety.”
She cocked her head, uncomprehending.
“It’s an automatic, Emily. The safety is on the side. It won’t fire with the safety on.”
She examined the gun and noticed the safety button. Floored by the implication, she groped for the lid of the footlocker. It dropped with a bang. She sank onto the locker. A press of the safety made a red dot show. “It was locked, and you knew it.”
“That’s right.” He rattled the short chain on the handcuffs. “Do you feel safer now?”
“What kind of game are you playing?”
“No game. I need you to listen to me. Trust me.”
She shook her head, making her hair whip against her cheeks. “Mickey recognized you. That’s why you avoided him. You do know Tuff. You visited him at the jail.”
“True.”
She gestured with the gun. “You better tell me what’s going on! Why did you go to the jail?”
“Tuff hired a hit man to kill you.”
“Pat Nyles.”
“Sort of. He gave Nyles five hundred dollars, but Nyles drank it up. You don’t have to worry about him, he’s in custody. Before Pat, though, Tuff gave Joey two thousand dollars and told him to hire a hit man. He promised eight thousand more when the job was finished.”
She fought a rise of tears. “Joey wants me dead?”
“Uh-uh. Joey thought Tuff was kidding. Tuff had him convinced you were responsible for your grandfather’s death and you’d done something shady with the will. Tuff told Joey as long as you were around,
Joey would never get the ranch. Joey’s so messed up, he doesn’t know what to believe, but he doesn’t want you dead.”
She saw where this was leading. “Joey hired you.” She raised the gun, pointing it once again at Reb’s chest. “Oh, God, you came here to kill me.” She jumped to her feet, still pointing the gun at his chest. “You low-down, sneaking…give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“Because I’m a cop.”
“Right. And I’m a ballerina.”
He extended his right hand as if for a friendly shake. “Special Agent John Tremaine, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Sit down, Emily. I’ll tell you everything.”
She backed up a wary step. How could she have sat across the table from this man for so many meals, kissed him, welcomed him into her bed and never realized the truth? “How do I know you aren’t lying now? Do you have any identification?”
“Nope. I work outside the regular agency, always undercover. That’s the ‘special’ tag. The FBI recruited me straight out of college, and I never went to the academy or associated with other agents. I don’t carry a badge. I’m not listed on any official roster. My contacts are all outside the agency. It keeps me clean of the cop taint. Crooks can spot a cop a mile away.”
His calm, matter-of-fact manner heightened her uncertainty. She sat again on the footlocker. “Does Joey know you’re from the FBI?”
“Yes. He knew if he refused to hire someone for Tuff that Tuff would have found a real hitter. Trouble is, Joey is convinced your buddy the sheriff is dirty. Tuff boasted about having a cop in his pocket, fixing things for him. So Joey called the FBI. He’s been helping me build a case against Tuff. He doesn’t like it. What he wanted was for me to scare Tuff. Slap his hand. But that couldn’t happen. So he’s been wearing a wire, taping his conversations with Tuff and the sheriff, gathering evidence.”
“Why didn’t Joey tell me?”
“He didn’t trust you.”
“Does he honestly think I killed Grandpa?”
“He doesn’t know what to think. But he saved your life. If he hadn’t called the FBI, you’d be dead. Pat Nyles or someone else would have gotten to you. Tuff knew it was only a matter of time before you either found the duffel bag or the body or somebody willing to open an investigation.”
She put down the gun and used her fingertips to massage her aching temples.
“I was involved in an arms deal, posing as a broker buying weapons. I made a buy with three million dollars in marked money. James Mullow was the wheelman for the two dealers I bought weapons from. It was routine. Agents were in place to make the bust. Instead, they found the car and two dead arms dealers. Mullow and the money were missing.”
Seeing where this was going, she said, “That’s the money Copper found.”
“Some of it. As was the two thousand dollars Joey gave me. We had a suspicion Mullow and Tuff were involved in the ambush. But even with the money, we didn’t have solid proof Tuff had the three million. They brought me in because I can identify Mullow.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “As far as we knew, you were involved, too. The way Tuff talked, you knew too much.”
“You thought I knew about the money. You weren’t going to kill me, you were going to arrest me.”
He nodded.
“Everything you told me was a lie. You seduced me.”
His eyes widened and his forehead tightened. He swallowed hard. “Not that part. That was no lie. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it wasn’t a lie.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted it so much she ached.
“I screwed up. I thought I could do my job and protect you, too. I didn’t…I never wanted you to know…” He looked away, showing her an anguished profile. “Falling in love with you wasn’t part of the plan.”
She buried her face against her hands. How she’d longed to hear those words from him. How it hurt to hear them now.
“I was wrong. As soon as I knew you had nothing to do with the money, I should have told you everything.” His voice dropped. “I couldn’t make myself tell you I lied.”
“Why should I believe you now?”
“Good question.”
She jumped off the footlocker and paced anxiously. “So where’s the money?”
“I don’t know.” He pulled a face. “I can tell you this much—the call you received warning you to stop searching the forest came from the sheriff’s office. It looks like Joey was right about not trusting Mickey.”
“Mickey Thigpen is no crook.”
“That remains to be seen. He’s under investigation. I can’t give you the details, but there have been some problems in his office in the past.”
She sat and hunched over on the footlocker, her self-confidence shaken. He’d lied to her from the beginning. She lifted her gaze to his face, studying his bright, intelligent eyes. “Joey said he killed Tuff. He wasn’t delirious, was he?”
Reb closed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Reb? Why did you get my brother involved? He’s only a boy.”
“Go back to the house. Look up the number for the regional FBI office. It’ll be in the phone book. Call and ask for Special Agent John Tremaine. Whoever answers the telephone will tell you that no such person works there. Tell him or her you’re sorry, but you were given that number because you’ve lost your dog. Then hang up.”
She wrinkled her nose in a grimace. “Are you kidding?”
“No. My boss will get the message and return your call. You don’t have to leave a number.”
“And if he doesn’t call me?”
He smiled, a slow, seductive pull of his lips that even now teased a response from her heart. “I reckon you can come back and shoot me.” He shook the handcuff chain. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Emotion rose, and she averted her face so he couldn’t see the tremble in her chin.
“I’d give anything to not have hurt you,” he said quietly. “As soon as I knew you weren’t a suspect, I should have told you everything. I’ve always had this rule about not caring. A lot of hard cases I’ve helped bust probably think to this day that I’m their best buddy, but I never cared. I care about you. I was selfish, telling myself I was protecting you when I was actually trying to protect myself. Look at me, Emily.”
Tears battled for freedom, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. She knew if she looked at him, she was lost. She grabbed the gun and fled the bunkhouse.
He called to her back, “Tell them you lost your dog.”
