by Laura Scott
“I see what you mean,” she admitted with a frown. “Yet it seems unbelievable that he would actually have evidence but not turn it over to the authorities right away.”
“Yeah. Just as irrational as marrying you without saying anything about going into witness protection,” he countered dryly. “It makes me wonder if Brett was trying to play this thing from both ends.”
“Both ends?” Chelsey’s voice was faint. “You mean, he told the bad guys he knew something about them as blackmail?”
“Hang on, Chels, I never said he was blackmailing anyone,” he hastened to reassure her. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear while I think out loud. Frankly, if Brett had done that, the bad guys would have taken him alive to find out where he hid the evidence.” The more he thought it through, the more he didn’t believe that Brett would be that reckless. “But I do wonder if he thought he should keep the evidence hidden from the local authorities.”
She stared at him as realization dawned. “Because he didn’t trust them?”
“Maybe.” Or because he wanted something to hold over their heads? He wasn’t sure what to think. “Any idea where Brett may have stashed the folder?”
“Most likely my office.”
“Your office?” That surprised him.
“Yes, my office. That’s where I kept all the other wedding plan files. It didn’t matter to me. I was too busy to peek at his honeymoon arrangements,” she said defensively.
“Okay, just checking.” Duncan glanced up as Slade walked over to join them. “We need to get into the Teton Valley Hotel to search Chelsey’s office.”
“For what?” Slade frowned.
“A file folder containing photographs that Brett carried around with him. I think there’s a possibility that Brett may have taken a picture of the murder.”
Slade’s green eyes widened. “He did mention needing time to get the evidence to us, but you think he had it all along?”
“Yeah, I do.” Duncan was just as frustrated with Brett’s actions as anyone. “But I’m starting to wonder if Brett knew more than he let on.”
“You really think he kept the evidence at the hotel?” Slade sounded skeptical.
“If Brett didn’t tell anyone about the evidence, including law enforcement and any potential leak there, then why not? Why not practically hide it in plain sight? It’s possible no one would consider Brett had photographs stashed in Chelsey’s office.”
“Okay, maybe,” Slade said, nodding slowly. “When Colt gets here, we’ll discuss this more. For now, the park rangers have agreed to help us out by delivering plywood within the hour.”
Duncan would be glad to have the plywood in place, but at the moment he would have rather had a set of wheels.
His instincts were screaming at him that Brett had in fact hidden evidence of the crime he’d witnessed. If not photographs, maybe something else. An audiotape would be nice. Anything pointing to Nettles being a killer.
If they could arrest the guy for murder, there was a chance that Chelsey wouldn’t have to go into witness protection.
And despite his determination to keep his heart isolated from being hurt a second time, he was forced to admit he liked the idea of having Chelsey nearby.
Very much.
* * *
Chelsey put a hand up to her temple, reassured to find she wasn’t bleeding. Horrified to realize the bullet had come so close she’d felt the heat of it zipping past her skin.
She took a moment to thank God for yet again keeping her safe. It seemed the Lord was working overtime with her.
And she appreciated His grace and protection.
Along with Duncan. She glanced at him, his handsome features already imprinted in her mind. He’d reacted instantly to the sound of gunfire, charging toward her, putting himself in danger once again to rescue her.
Duncan was a man of honor. A man of his word. She trusted him in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust another man.
She tore her gaze away and tried to focus on the present. The idea of doing something to escape this mess was appealing.
Sitting around doing nothing while waiting for the next bullet to hit its mark wasn’t productive. She wanted to do her part in finding the man who’d murdered Brett.
In her mind’s eye, she cast her memory back to the last time she’d seen Brett with the honeymoon folder. It had been a yellow folder, because yellow was her favorite color. She’d been charmed by his choice at the time. Now she was just annoyed.
He’d use a yellow file folder because it was her favorite color, but not tell her he’d witnessed a murder that was likely linked to organized crime. Yeah, how was that for twisted?
She tried to shake off the bits of anger that kept floating to the surface. Brett was dead. He’d paid the ultimate price for his mistakes.
Time to get over it, already.
Chelsey closed her eyes and tried to bring the memory into focus. She’d been in her office, finishing up a call with the florist when Brett had ducked his head in, his smile dazzling. He’d had the yellow file folder in his hand, tapping it idly against the door frame as he waited for her to finish.
“Everything okay, Chelsey?”
“It will be. The florist doesn’t have enough yellow roses so I’ll have to have white intermixed with the yellow. No big deal, though. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to say I love you.” Brett’s smile faded when his cell phone rang. “Do you mind if I take this quick?”
“Sure.” He came farther into her office, slid the yellow folder on the edge of her desk beneath several other file folders as he stepped away to take the call.
“Yeah, I know he’s been AWOL for a while, but I’m sure he’ll turn up, he always does.” There was a pause before Brett said, “Of course, I can take over his projects but not until after my wedding and honeymoon. You know how it is, gotta keep the wife happy.”
“Chelsey?” Duncan’s tone pulled her from her thoughts. The way he was looking at her made her realize she must have been ignoring him for a while.
“Yes?”
“You okay?” Duncan’s tone was full of concern.
“Yes, why?”
“You were staring off into space, frowning.” Duncan put his hand on her shoulder and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching up to cover it with hers. The warmth from his palm seemed to radiate down to her bones. “Bad memory?”
It was disconcerting the way he read her so well. “Not bad, necessarily, but I just remembered a call Brett took while we were in my office. He had the honeymoon folder with him, and he tucked it beneath a bunch of my files before moving away to take the call.”
“You think it’s still on your desk?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. It was the day before the wedding and we were heading out soon for the rehearsal dinner? But that’s not all, Brett made a comment about a guy being AWOL.”
“AWOL is a military term for absent without leave,” Duncan said thoughtfully.
“Yes, then he said something like, of course he’d be happy to take over the guy’s projects, but not until after the wedding and honeymoon.” She didn’t add the part about keeping his wife happy, because really it only showed just how clueless Brett was about her feelings. How happy would she have been after the wedding? Not very. She focused on the tidbit of information she’d overheard. “Do you think the guy that went AWOL is the same man who was murdered?”
“It’s possible Brett was referring to Roland Perry,” Duncan admitted. “The name doesn’t ring a bell?”
She slowly shook her head. “No. I remember Brett talking about Kenny Martin, and frankly I assumed that was who he spoke to that day he mentioned the guy going AWOL. But nothing about a Roland Perry.”
Duncan gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “Keep up the good work, Chelsey. You’ve remembere
d the yellow folder, seeing photographs in there, and this latest conversation Brett had about someone going missing. I’m sure there are other fleeting memories that you’ve picked up along the way.”
“Yeah. Too bad I don’t have one of those eidetic memories,” she said with a sigh. “That would come in handy right now.”
“Good news, I just heard from my buddy Colt Nelson. He’ll be here in about an hour with more supplies, like a computer and weapons, along with a nice SUV with tinted windows,” Slade informed them.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Duncan said, releasing her shoulder to turn toward Slade. “I’d like better odds than what we’ve been dealing with so far.”
Chelsey frowned. “We already have the two of you against the shooter.”
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck in a way that told her he had bad news. Before she could remind him of his promise not to lie to her, he said, “I think there’s at least two men out there watching us, maybe three.”
“Three?” Her pulse jumped and she tried to remain calm.
“Two for sure,” Duncan said firmly. “The shooter was stationed to watch the back door, maybe waiting for us to let our guard down long enough to go outside. If he’s up in a tree on the mountain, how did he see us come inside through the front door? There has to be someone out front and another guy out back, at a minimum.”
Slade nodded, making her realize she was the last to know. She cleared her throat. “Once Colt gets here, will we head to the Teton Valley Hotel?”
The two men exchanged a look. “Maybe later,” Duncan reluctantly said. “Once darkness has fallen.”
“Jackson isn’t that far. We could be there and back in an hour,” she pointed out.
“I know,” Slade said. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you well guarded while we check things out.”
“Well guarded?” She glanced between the two men. “I’m coming with you.”
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck again. “Chelsey, I know you want to help, but...”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not just getting the file folder. I’d also like at least one picture of my parents along with the birthstone pendant they gave me.” When she saw the expression in Slade’s eyes, she insisted, “Two small things. One picture and a pendant. That can’t be too much to ask.”
Neither man spoke for a long moment. Finally, Slade sighed and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry, Chelsey, we can let you come along if you insist, but the recommendation from the US marshals is that you take absolutely no personal items with you at all. Not a photograph or a pendant. Anything material that might connect you with your old life is far too much of a risk.”
She felt as if she’d been sucker punched in the stomach. No picture of her parents? No birthstone pendant? She put a hand up to her neck, feeling for something that wasn’t there. Why hadn’t she worn the pendant with her wedding dress? Why had she decided at the last minute to take it off? Because the pendant didn’t sit well with her neckline?
So stupid to care about something like that. She lowered her chin to her chest, struggling with the need to cry.
She’d known going into witness protection would be difficult, but until that moment the magnitude of what she was giving up forever hit hard.
And heaven help her, she wasn’t sure she could do it.
ELEVEN
Chelsey’s grief-stricken expression tugged at his heart. Duncan wished there was something more he could do for her.
Other than finding the evidence that might just put Anthony Nettles in prison for the rest of his life.
A knock on their cabin door had him spinning around, weapon ready. Slade lifted a hand. “Probably the plywood.”
Duncan nodded, but didn’t necessarily lower his weapon. Survival instincts had been drilled into him during his time in Afghanistan. He wasn’t going to relax his guard.
He stood in front of Chelsey as Slade went to the door. To his credit, the marshal called out first. “Who’s there?”
“Ranger Eric Connolly. I have the plywood you requested.”
Slade eased the door open, verifying the park ranger’s identity before allowing him in. Eric entered the cabin, carrying a sheet of plywood, with a tool belt slung over his shoulder.
“I have a small circular saw, hammer and nails,” Eric said. “Will two sheets of plywood be enough?”
“I think we can make it work,” Slade said. “Thanks, I know this is above and beyond the scope of your duty.”
“I don’t mind. Want help?” Eric stood for a moment with his hands on his hips, surveying the room. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“That would be great.” Slade and Duncan moved forward, quickly measuring and sawing wood.
The work was mindless, and Duncan couldn’t help glancing at his watch, hoping Colt Nelson would get there soon. He wanted some time with the computer, to investigate just who they were dealing with, before heading out to the Teton Valley Hotel to search for Brett’s honeymoon folder.
The interior of the cabin turned dark once they had successfully covered the windows. They had just enough plywood for the main living space, and since they’d be heading out that night, decided the bedrooms would remain off-limits for now.
Thirty minutes after Eric left, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up. Duncan hung back as Slade gestured to his fellow marshal to come inside.
Colt was tall and lean. He had short blond hair beneath the rim of a cowboy hat similar to Slade’s which made Duncan wonder if the hat was part of the US marshal uniform, like the five-point silver star on his chest. Colt carried a computer bag over his shoulder, but there was only one device, not two.
“Colt, this is Duncan O’Hare. He’s a cop with the Milwaukee Police Department and this is Chelsey Robards,” Slade said by way of introduction.
Colt nodded. “I’m Colt with the US Marshals Service. I see you have the place locked up tight.”
“There was another attempt to kill Chelsey from someone hiding in the trees behind the cabin,” Duncan said.
Colt scowled. “Not good.”
“We’ll fill you in. Let’s unpack your computer and get to work,” Duncan suggested.
Slade updated Colt on the recent events as Duncan took charge of the computer. The cabin came with internet access, but it was slow. Still, he managed to come up with a picture of Anthony Nettles, turning the screen so Chelsey could see.
“Recognize him?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry.”
“No need to apologize, just trying to work through the list.” Duncan went back to work, finally finding a grainy picture of Kenny Martin. “How about this one?”
“Kenny Martin.” There was no hesitation in her tone.
Slade leaned over his shoulder. “I remember him. He was at the wedding.”
“He was?” Duncan glanced back at the photo. “I guess it’s reasonable Brett would invite his boss.”
“Unless he knew the guy was mixed up with organized crime,” Slade pointed out dryly.
There was that. Brett had obviously not been thinking too clearly about all of this.
“He spent a lot of time talking to someone,” Slade continued, staring at the picture on the screen. “An older guy, face like leather, wearing chaps which stuck out to me as it was, after all, a wedding.”
“Chaps?” Chelsey echoed. “The only person that wears chaps everywhere is my neighbor Elroy Lansing.”
“The rich rancher?” Duncan asked, committing the photograph of Kenny Martin to memory.
“Not rich,” Chelsey reminded him. “He’s been selling off his land, remember? Which is why it was always a little sad that he wore chaps, like he was living back in the days when he was herding cattle by horseback.”
“Hmm.” Duncan wished he’d paid more attention to the guests at Brett and Chelsey’s we
dding. But they were strangers to him, and he hadn’t anticipated Brett being gunned down at the altar.
“Yeah, Brett mentioned Elroy Lansing,” Slade said. “We need to look into who owns Elkhorn Estates, the company which bought up a big chunk of Lansing’s property.”
“That might be outside my area of expertise,” Duncan admitted. “I’ll give you the computer in a moment.” He tried searching for Roland Perry, but nothing came up. After a few minutes of trying, he reluctantly turned the screen toward Slade and gave up his seat. “I give up on Roland Perry. Have at it.”
Slade worked the computer like a pro, despite the frustratingly spotty Wi-Fi. “Whoever owns Elkhorn Estates has covered their tracks really well. The president is listed as Simon Graves.” He glanced at Chelsey. “Does that name sound familiar?”
“No,” Chelsey said.
“Did you know everyone who was on the guest list for your wedding?” Duncan asked. “Did Brett invite a lot of people?”
Chelsey frowned. “Actually, he didn’t. I remember urging him to invite more friends and family, but he kept saying that his aunts, uncles and cousins were too far away and wouldn’t want to make the trip to Wyoming.”
“Work friends?” Duncan persisted. “He clearly had Kenny Martin on the list.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “For sure Anthony Nettles wasn’t on the list, and neither was Roland Perry. But there were a couple of others. I can’t remember their names offhand.”
Duncan tried not to show his disappointment. “It’s okay, maybe something will come to you.”
Colt prowled the interior of the cabin, seemingly antsy to be stuck inside without any natural light. Duncan could relate. After all, he was used to being active, too.
“I’ll throw together something for lunch.” Chelsey poked her head into the fridge then looked through the cupboards. “Looks like grilled ham and cheese sandwiches are a good choice.”
“Fine with me,” Slade said absently. His gaze was rooted on the computer screen. “Guys, check this out.”
