Losing Ladd

by Dianne Venetta

  Anger and resentment coiled through his chest as he drove familiar streets on autopilot. If Delaney and her daughter hadn’t conned his old man out of the land, Jeremiah would have inherited it upon his death. A death that couldn’t have happened early enough. Thinking back to his last encounter with his father, Jeremiah recalled the hatred in the old man’s eyes, the rage.

  Too bad they didn’t finish the job.

  In the space of one sentence, Jeremiah had suspected his father was responsible for the anonymous beating he received, left for the dead on the streets of the worst section in town. Bile rose at the memory. Ernie Ladd had thrust his gun into the screen door, threatening to pull the trigger of the shotgun he held. Heart thumping, Jeremiah was disturbed the thoughts still drew a reaction from him. Growing up with Ernie Ladd for a father had been a rotten existence. It would have been the icing on the cake to cause his death, but he never had the chance. The old man died while Jeremiah was sitting in a jail—sitting in a jail because Delaney’s rat of a husband called the authorities in Vegas, alerting them to his whereabouts, leading them by the nose to his hometown where that weak-kneed Gavin Shore arrested him for the money he owed a casino. Anger surged.

  Well, guess what? Time to pay up, boys. Plan B was about to go into action. Yanking his cell phone from the center console, Jeremiah dialed the number and waited through the rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Time to ramp it up,” Jeremiah said, staring ahead through his windshield, the roofline of his motel coming into sight.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Can you meet later this afternoon?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll call you back,” Jeremiah clipped, then ended the call. He didn’t know exactly how he was going to make Delaney and the rest of them pay, but pay they would. Jeremiah would hit them where it hurt. He’d do whatever it took. Passing a seed and feed store, he honed in on a horse trailer parked out front. A slow smile crept onto Jeremiah’s lips as an idea began to form in his mind.

  Jack Foster and his mother Victoria sat in the waiting room of Hank Dakota’s law firm. His mother paid to have Hank on retainer, even though he wasn’t representing them. His office would serve as a meeting place for their attorneys out of Nashville who were representing them in the case against Troy and Delaney.

  “I’ll talk to you then,” Jack said into this cell phone then slid it back into his pocket.

  “Who was that?” Victoria asked.

  “An old friend.”

  “What kind of old friend?”

  Jack smirked.

  Victoria glowered at his evasive response but Jack couldn’t care less. He wasn’t about to reveal the identity of his “old friend” because it could muddy the waters of her support—support he needed. The trial was set to begin in two weeks and the firm his mother hired was finalizing their attack plan, meeting today to go over strategy. Jack glanced at his gold watch. Eleven fifty-nine. They were late. Fifteen minutes late.

  “Don’t get into any kind of trouble before the trial,” Victoria warned.

  “What’s the matter, Momma? Don’t you trust that I know how to stay clean?”

  She flashed an angry gaze that said she did not. Jack chuckled. Patting her arm on the armrest between them, he said, “There’s nothing going on that will jeopardize our case. On the contrary, I’ve got allies that can only work to help our cause.”

  “What allies?”

  “Secret weapon allies,” he said, glancing up as a flood of sunlight spilled in through the opened front door. The Nashville team had arrived. Jack rose to his feet, assisting his mother to do likewise.

  Three men dressed in full suits, all dark, all pin-striped, filled the modest lobby of the Dakota Law Firm. Two wing chairs, a potted plant and a cheesy landscape picture hung on the wall lined with waynes coating, the office appeared beneath them. The tallest man in the middle took charge, his gray hair implying a senior status. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Foster. Mr. Foster.”

  “Good afternoon,” his mother replied politely, though Jack knew she wasn’t happy to be kept waiting.

  Dispensing with all pretense, the man asked, “You two ready to get started?”

  “I was ready fifteen minutes ago,” Jack replied, ignoring the displeasure curling his mother’s gaze. Manners should always be maintained, despite one’s personal feelings. He’d heard the mantra day in and day out growing up with her. He didn’t need the reminder.

  Unaffected, the man glanced toward the conference room just as Hank Dakota emerged from his office.

  “Good to see you, Samuel,” Hank greeted warmly, his navy blue and green plaid button-down a stark contrast to the professionally dressed men. He looked more like a farmhand than an experienced attorney.

  “Sorry we’re running late,” the man replied. “Traffic accident on I-24.”

  “No problem,” Hank replied. “Shall we get started?” Hank flicked the light on as he entered the conference room, the gentlemen filing in behind him.

  Jack grumbled to his mother about the likelihood of the man’s excuse, but followed them in without further protest.

  In the back office, Travis sat hunched over the computer, legal pad and pen to the right of the keyboard. As expected, Hank Dakota offered no protest to his request for computer access. Over Christmas break he’d offered his computer, saying Travis had an open-door invitation to do research. Mr. Dakota said he was glad to see another sharp mind entering the field of law and was counting on Travis working summers for him, a deal to which Travis readily agreed. Interning for an attorney would be an invaluable asset on his application to law school, not to mention the experience he’d gain. While Mr. Dakota had indicated he was meeting with clients this morning and couldn’t be of help to him directly, he didn’t mention who they were. But as he excused himself, voices carried, easily identifying those in attendance as Jack and Victoria Foster.

  Clenching his jaw, Travis clicked through screens on the monitor before him. The Fosters were here to meet with counsel regarding the impending trial against Troy and Felicity’s mom. According to Felicity, Mrs. Foster had hired a firm out of Nashville to argue their case, most likely in response to Mr. Harris’ decision to hire a group out of Chattanooga for Troy’s defense—a blockbuster group with a reputation for winning even the toughest cases.

  Travis hoped they raked the Fosters over the coals, leaving lasting marks. It was disgraceful what they were doing to Troy, Mrs. Foster in particular. Felicity’s father was saving his own skin. Criminals like Jack Foster always lied to save their butt from jail, but his mother’s involvement is what enabled the travesty. Without her money and connections to Gavin Shore and other members of the police department, Jack Foster would have gotten nowhere fast. Travis might have his differences with his brother, but he would not stand by and allow people to make a mockery of the justice system or a fool of his family.

  Shaking off the frustration, Travis worked to clear his mind, concentrating on the information displayed on the screen. Someone paid Jeremiah’s marker to the casino and that payment could be traced. He’d called the casino and learned the bank used for such purposes. Now he had to get the routing number. Every bank had one, kind of like a person had a social security number. It was specific to them. Clicking through screens on the Federal Reserve’s website, Travis searched for the bank in question. He knew the amount of money in question. Knew Jeremiah’s name, his driver’s license number, his last known address in Atlanta, though he wasn’t sure the latter was necessary. The man had been in jail in Nevada. That was an easier find.

  Once he pinpointed the bank, he could work backwards and find the debit bank. A phone call with the beneficiary bank information and recipient’s information should get him one step closer to discovering who originated the transaction. Then he’d be one step closer to tying a direct line between Jeremiah Ladd and his accomplice. Next, Travis would wo
rk to establish motive. Despite Felicity’s assertion that her father was responsible for setting the horses free, Travis believed her mom was on a better track. Jeremiah was the one who promised revenge. He was the one who hated the hotel and everyone connected to it. It was likely him behind the horse fiasco.

  But who paid the money to get him out of jail? Travis clicked his mouse as he scrolled through screen after screen, speed-reading the names and lists. It would take a bit of time, some well-placed phone calls, but Travis was confident he could get to the bottom of it. Then he’d share the information with the authorities, and Felicity and her mom would know who was responsible and take the appropriate actions.

  Chapter Seven

  Troy walked clear of the trail and into the meadow, Spirit plodding methodically behind him. In the distance, the hotel was barely visible. Hidden away in the mountain, its walls were partially obscured by trees and underbrush, windows allowing guests to see out better than passersby could see in. It had been an amazing transformation. He hadn’t been here for the entire process, but he knew this property like his own. He loved it like his own. The fact that someone was trying to destroy it rubbed him raw. Whoever tried to harm the horses was going to hear from him. First stop needed to be the stables. He needed to deliver Spirit safe and sound to Miss Delaney, but he also needed to consult with someone regarding the appearance of Jeremiah Ladd in the forest. He could tell Miss Delaney, but Troy felt her attention would be better fixed on her horses. Hopefully Travis and Felicity found Blue, and her hands would be full caring for the animals. Troy pulled the cell phone from his pocket and called Felicity.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you find Blue?” Troy asked.

  “Yes. She was down by the river. How about you?”

  “Spirit’s with me now. I’m walkin’ him back to the stables.”

  “Oh, good!”

  “Where are you?” he asked, flattening flowers and grass as he and Spirit plodded along the tree line.

  “At Fran’s. My mom sent me here to pick up lunch for one of the guys at the stables.”

  Troy nodded, his stomach growling at the mention of food. “I could use a little lunch myself,” he said, noting a shiny silver car turning into the hotel’s parking lot.

  “Want me to pick something up for you?”

  “Nah. I’ll go home for lunch, but thanks.”

  “Okay and Troy...”

  “Yeah?”

  “I saw my father this morning...”

  When she didn’t elaborate, Troy asked, “What was he doin?”

  “He was with Jillian Devane.”

  “Jillian Devane? What the heck is she doin’ here?” he asked, memories of the cat woman gurgling to the surface. The last time he saw her she was tryin’ to wrap her arms around him like a noose. He’d been waiting for Casey at Whiskey Joe’s and the woman latched onto him like white on rice. Casey had walked in on him and nearly dumped him over the incident. Which burned his hide. That vixen wasn’t even worth the headache.

  “That’s what I was wondering, but it’s worse.”

  “Worse? What could be worse than the she-devil being in town?”

  “I think she spent the night with my father.”

  Troy groaned. Felicity was right. That couldn’t be good.

  “Gotta go,” she said. “I’m pulling into the lot for Fran’s.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Troy picked up his pace, more determined than ever not to share what he saw in the woods with Miss Delaney. If she knew Jillian Devane was in town, she would not be happy. She already suspected Jeremiah was up to trouble. What would it do to her to know she was up against a double-whammy?

  Crossing the bridge, Troy took the turn for the trail leading up to the stables, stopped sudden by the call of his name.

  “Troy, hold up!”

  Cal Foster descended the front steps of the lobby and jogged over to him, wearing a light green button-down and khaki pants, his standard manager wear. Combined with his fair skin and light brown hair, the colors made him look soft, but Troy knew the man to be anything but. Pausing, Troy glanced back to Spirit, who tugged at the lead. “Whoa, boy.”

  The horse stopped, shook its mane and swatted a fly from his rear.

  “You’re okay. We’re only here for a second,” Troy said.

  Mr. Foster grinned as he reached them. “I see you found Spirit. Good job!”

  “Yes, sir. He was wandering in the forest.”

  “Delaney will be thrilled by the news.”

  “Headed up her way now.”

  “Let me take a look at him.” Troy stepped aside as Cal assessed the animal behind him. Walking the around the back of him, he inspected Spirit’s body and legs, ran a hand the length of his mid-section. “He looks good. Did you have any trouble rounding him up?”

  “No, sir.” Troy paused. Spirit’s ears twitched forward and back, he kicked a hoof restlessly at the ground as he kept an eye on Mr. Foster. “But there is something I have to tell you.”

  Mr. Foster’s expression stilled, his hazel gaze clouding with concern. “What?”

  “I saw Jeremiah Ladd in the forest, out near the gold site.”

  “What?”

  Troy nodded. “He was with two men.”

  Cal raked a hand through his hair. “Do I need to ask what they were doing?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but they weren’t real happy to find the gold had been mined.”

  “I’ll bet they weren’t! Do you know who the men were?”

  “No, sir. But I think Mr. Ladd must have promised them some of the gold.”

  “They probably paid his marker.”

  Troy glimpsed a black head of hair and his heart stopped, then punched into motion. “There’s something else you need to know,” Troy told him, his gaze catching on a sight over Cal’s shoulder. His heart began to pound. “We got company.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, turning to see what Troy was looking at. Cal’s demeanor coarsened. “What the hell is she doing here?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  Both men watched as Jillian Devane picked her way through the natural terrain, carefully walking over the dirt and gravel trail in her heels. Her very high heels and skintight pants. She wore a short jacket made of some kind of animal print, the sleeves stopping just past her elbow. She glanced over at them, gave a short wave and served up a fat smile.

  Witch. “Felicity called me and told me she saw her outside a hotel downtown with Mr. Foster.”

  “Jack?”

  “Yes, sir. Seems the two have hooked up.”

  “Great.” Cal’s displeasure was visceral. “As if we didn’t have enough trouble already. Talk about dastardly duo.”

  “Can’t be good,” Troy agreed. Beside him, Spirit whinnied, prodding him to resume his trek to the stables.

  Cal looked at the horse and said, “Appreciate you telling me. How about you go ahead and take Spirit back to the stables while I take care of Jillian Devane.” Glancing over his shoulder, his tone dropped. “See if I can’t shorten her visit.”

  “There’s one more thing, sir.”

  Lines formed across Cal’s forehead. “More bad news?”

  “We found a lighter outside the stables.”

  “A lighter?”

  “Yes, sir. When Felicity, Travis and I set out on our search this morning, we spotted it on the ground outside the side entrance.” Cal stared at him expectantly and Troy swallowed. “Felicity said it belonged to her daddy.”

  Cal’s gaze cooled several degrees. Mr. Foster was thinking what he was thinking. Lighter. Fire. Jillian Devane.

  Revenge.

  “I need to call Nick right away.”

  Troy figured he might. Snapping a glance up the hill, Troy asked, “Should I say anything to Miss Delaney?”

  “I’d prefer you not. Let Mr. Harris do the honors.”

  Relief swept through him. “Yes, sir.”

  Without another word, Tro
y started for the trail up to the stables. Mr. Foster would handle things from here. He was General Manager of the hotel. He was in charge. He knew what needed to be done. Avoiding eye contact with Jillian Devane as he passed, Troy could feel her hot gaze beating down his back. She wanted nothing more than to taunt him, to tease him. To cause him trouble.

  It was a pleasure he would deny her. Pulling his hat forward, Troy said, “C’mon, boy. We’re goin’ home.”

  Cal Foster walked over to Jillian, curious as to her presence. Was this a pleasure visit to see his brother? Cal doubted it. While Ms. Devane might indeed be playing around with Jack, Cal didn’t think it stopped there. No. Ms. Devane was a woman of means, a woman nursing a vengeful heart. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

  Ruin Hotel Ladd.

  Jillian Devane stood out of direct sunlight, waiting for Cal beneath the shade of towering oaks, a cluster of dogwoods mixed in. Azaleas dotted the landscape along with clumps of hydrangea, their leaves a deep, healthy green. Against the backdrop of Tennessee country, Jillian looked out of place, adorned in gold jewelry, her sunglasses oversized and very black, a near match to her shiny hair falling in sheets past her shoulders. A stick figure, her long legs were clad in form-fitting jeans, her shirt a combination of gold mesh and creamy silk beneath a leopard-print cropped jacket.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Foster,” Jillian said, addressing him formally.

  “Afternoon.” Cal stopped feet from her. Masking his emotions with a detached professionalism, he asked, “What brings you out our way?”

  Jillian smiled. “Why, I’m here to check-in.”

  “Check in?”

  Her eyes held a deliberate goad. “Of course. Why else would I be here?”

  Cal could name a thousand reasons, none of them good, but refused to give her an ounce of satisfaction. “Of course. A woman of your intelligence knows there’s only one place worth staying in this part of the country. A Harris Hotel.”