by Laura Scott
“How did they know that?” Chelsey asked. When she tried to sit up, he slid his arm around her shoulders offering his support. She leaned against him just for a moment, and he fought the urge to kiss her.
“I don’t know,” Colt admitted. “They must have had someone up there watching since early this morning.”
“No one is up there now?” Duncan asked.
Colt shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching from somewhere close by.”
“We need to get Chelsey out of here, then.” Duncan didn’t want to give these guys another chance to get to her. She eased away from him, so he rose to his feet. “Does the plane you arranged for have the ability to have Chelsey lying flat in the back?”
“No, but I can arrange a different plane.” Slade pulled out his phone.
“Wait, where are you taking me?” Chelsey asked.
Slade glanced at Duncan. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m going with her,” Duncan said in a firm voice.
“You can’t,” Chelsey protested weakly.
“She’s right, it’s too risky,” Colt added.
He tamped down a flash of impatience. “First of all, it makes sense that I would go along with her body if she really was dead. Secondly, there’s no risk since I’m willing to give up my old life to create a new one with Chelsey.”
Colt and Slade exchanged a glance. Duncan was prepared for the argument, but it didn’t come.
“Give me a minute to arrange new transportation,” Slade said, turning away. “We’ll have time to make a plan once I have that arranged.”
Duncan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He smiled reassuringly at Chelsey. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be all right.”
She gave a slight nod, then turned to lie down on the bed.
“Cold?” He drew the blanket up beneath her chin.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. Understanding she needed to rest, he left her alone.
Giving her time to recover from her injuries was one thing, but those moments he’d believed she’d been killed were too fresh in his mind.
No way was he letting her go.
* * *
She needed a chance to talk to Slade alone. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her head and chest was easy compared to the impact of Duncan’s offer to give up his entire life for her.
She couldn’t let him do it.
When Slade returned, she reached out to grasp his hand. In a low whisper she said, “Don’t let Duncan give up his family for me.”
Slade offered a wry smile. “I’ll try, but he’s pretty stubborn.”
“Please, Slade. You need to find a way.” She released his hand and dropped the subject when Duncan came into the room.
“The sooner we get out of here, the better,” Duncan said.
“We need to carry Chelsey’s body out of the hotel and place her in the back of the SUV,” Slade said in agreement. “I recommend we cover her with a sheet, the way we would if she was dead.”
“Maybe we use the blanket to carry her out in a sling,” Duncan offered. “Use the sheet to cover her face.”
It felt odd to hear them talking about how to move her out of the hotel. She hoped Slade and Colt were wrong about the shooter hanging around to keep a watch on the place.
If he were smart, he’d be long gone.
Keeping her body limp as the men lifted her in the blanket wasn’t easy. She concentrated on not moving a single muscle.
Duncan and Colt gently set her in the back of the SUV. With part of the back seat lowered flat, she fit perfectly. Only after they closed the hatch did she take a deep breath.
So far, so good.
“Chelsey? The windows are tinted so no one is able to see in. Would you rather sit upright?” Duncan asked.
Her head still hurt, as did her ribs. “No, this is good.”
The ride to the airport didn’t take long, and she appreciated the way Slade drove with care, staying just under the speed limit.
From her position, she could see the airplanes taking off and landing as they approached the airport. She knew the Jackson Hole Airport was small with just six gates total. But that was for commercial flights. She didn’t know where the private hangars were located.
Slade took a turn, then slowly brought the SUV to a stop. “This is it—the private plane we’ve arranged as transport is waiting inside. We’re going to carry you in the blanket, the same way we did at the hotel.”
Duncan reached out to lightly stroke her hair in a way that brought tears to her eyes, before pushing his door open. She swiped at her face and reminded herself to stay strong.
Duncan deserved to return to his family.
Once again, she made herself limp, not daring to breathe as she was removed from the SUV. Even when there was a slight bump against the back of her already sore head, she didn’t react.
She was carried inside the hangar and placed in the back of a small cargo type of plane. There, she sat up and looked around. This was the first time she’d been in a small plane, and in a private hangar. The interior of the building was rather plain, but also vaguely familiar.
Maybe from something she’d seen on television?
The pilot came over to greet Slade. “I’m Jenkins, your pilot. I need to finish my preflight checklist and we’ll be ready to go.”
“Thanks. I’m Slade Brooks, and this is Chelsey. We appreciate you changing the plane at the last minute.”
Jenkins shrugged. “It’s no problem.”
“Hey, isn’t that building over there the hangar for Travis Wolfe?” Duncan asked.
She craned her neck to see what he meant. The building was larger than the one they were currently in, but the outside was labeled with a large sign that read Wolfe Industries.
Edging out of the back of the plane, she saw the three men staring in surprise. “We should have realized there would be a private hangar for Travis Wolfe,” Duncan said in disgust. “What rich guy doesn’t own his own plane?”
“Hey, it’s a world outside my experience,” Slade commented dryly.
“I need to take a look inside the place,” Duncan said. “Could be something there to give us a clue if Travis Wolfe and his head of security, Wesley Strand, are working on the wrong side of the law with Nettles.”
Her stomach clenched with worry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if you get caught?”
“I just need a minute to check the place out.” Duncan glanced at Slade. “Don’t take off with Chelsey until I’m back, okay?”
It occurred to her that they could leave while Duncan was off peeking inside the Wolfe Industries hangar. It was the best way to ensure that he didn’t try to relocate with her. But Chelsey couldn’t do it. She wanted to hug Duncan one last time. She wanted to look into his deep brown eyes and tell him how much these past few days had meant to her.
She wanted to let him know how much she loved him. And would never forget him.
“Duncan, wait,” Slade protested, but it was too late. Duncan had already edged out of the hangar, rounded the SUV and was walking purposefully toward the Wolfe Industries building.
“I’ll go with him,” Colt said. “Stay with Chelsey.”
Slade sighed heavily and she knew he was annoyed with Duncan’s determination to glimpse inside the building.
From her position in the back of the plane, she watched as Colt and Duncan made their way across the wide-open space that separated the two hangars.
The guys had just reached the edge of the building when a limo rolled into view. She hadn’t seen any limos in Jackson and knew the passenger could only be the owner himself. “Slade? What if Travis Wolfe finds them snooping around?”
Slade’s expression was grim as he picked up his phone. “Colt? Y
ou’ve got a limo driving up to the hangar.”
She couldn’t hear Colt’s reply, but could only watch in horror as Duncan and Colt dropped down behind a couple of oil drums located right outside the hangar mere seconds before the limo rolled to a stop.
What was Duncan thinking? What if he and Colt were found? It was possible that Travis Wolfe wasn’t involved in any criminal activity and would be upset only about the men snooping near his hangar, but she didn’t really believe it.
Please, Lord, keep Duncan and Colt safe in Your care!
SIXTEEN
Duncan made himself as small as possible behind the two oil drums located outside the Wolfe Industries hangar. Colt had unexpectedly joined him, and he was glad to have backup. Before taking cover, he’d gotten a glimpse of the interior of the hangar. The space was large, occupied by a plane, but there had also been a slew of boxes along one side of the building, several labeled with the Coyote Creek Construction logo.
As he hovered there behind the oil drum, Duncan slowly realized this was the same place he’d seen in Brett’s two photographs of Nettles holding a gun—one photo the gun was pointed at Perry, the other with the undercover cop lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
The shooting of Roland Perry hadn’t taken place in a company warehouse, as he’d originally assumed. It had happened right here in the Wolfe Industries airport hangar.
If only there was a way to prove it. The boxes alone wouldn’t be enough. But maybe if luminol was used on the interior of the building, they’d find Roland Perry’s blood had seeped into the concrete floor. Of course, they needed a warrant and probable cause to get that.
Was the photograph of Nettles and the dead cop standing near Coyote Creek Construction boxes enough? Probably not.
Male voices drifted toward them, and he strained to listen.
“You better hope she’s dead,” a deep, curt voice said. “I’m tired of paying for incompetence.”
She who? Chelsey? Duncan risked a glance at Colt who was listening just as intently.
“Hey, it’s not our fault she managed to get help,” a higher whiney voice complained. “We’ve lost two of our own men in this.”
“Shut up!” The deep voice struck with the force of whiplash. “Those men were stupid enough to get caught, so it’s only right that they should suffer an accident while in jail.”
Accident? Duncan’s gut clenched. Like being silenced, permanently?
“Easy, Travis...” A third calm voice seemed to be taking the role of peacekeeper.
“No, I won’t take it easy,” the deep voice snapped. “Why would you guys use hunting rifles anyway? Why not high powered AK47s with silencers attached? This has been nothing but a debacle from the beginning. It’s a wonder you were able to hit Thompson the way you did.”
The reference to Brett’s murder made Duncan’s blood run cold. He peered around the edge of the oil drum just far enough to see four men standing there. He easily recognized three of them from the photos—Anthony Nettles, Wesley Strand and Travis Wolfe. The fourth man was standing apart from the other three, keeping his head down and shoulders slouched as if he were the low man on the totem pole in the group.
The guy with his head down turned so that Duncan could see his profile. Wait a minute. Duncan narrowed his gaze, wishing he had a pair of binoculars. The longer he looked, the more convinced he became that the fourth guy was the same one who’d attacked him on the side of the mountain. At least he was fairly certain. Even from a distance he could see the fresh wound along his temple. The spot where Chelsey had hit him with the log during their struggle with the knife.
He eased back behind the drum and glanced at Colt. “They’re in it together,” he said in a whisper. “The guy with the whiney voice and head down is the same one who attacked me on the mountain.”
Colt nodded to indicate he understood.
“A hunting rifle doesn’t raise suspicion. Every man in Wyoming has one,” the whiney voice said. “But anyone catching a glimpse of a fancy AK47 would blab to the entire town.”
“I told you to shut up!” Wolfe sounded as if he had reached his limit.
“Okay, Travis, you have a right to be upset. But the woman is dead and we’ll get the property, which is what you wanted, right?”
“Right.” Wolfe’s tone had lost some of its edge. “I’m getting out of here until things cool off. The rest of you better keep your heads down and eyes open. Those guys who were helping the woman are law enforcement of some kind and might stick around to find out what happened to her.”
“Not to worry, we have inside help, remember?” The nasal voice must belong to Nettles, it was the first thing the guy had said since they’d arrived.
“Yes, inside help that I’m paying for,” Wolfe responded harshly. “I’m funding all of this, so you guys better hold up your end of the deal.”
Duncan realized this was exactly what they needed to nail these guys once and for all. Easing his phone out of his pocket, he held it along the edge of the oil drum, much the way Brett must have done a few weeks ago, and took pictures of the four men standing outside the hangar.
The only downside he could see was that he and Colt might be trespassing, although he felt certain the hangar itself might belong to the airport. Still, it was something that could get their testimony tossed out of a courtroom by a smart lawyer, one he assumed Wolfe had on speed dial.
He thought about the boxes inside the hangar and wondered what Coyote Creek Construction was shipping in or out of the state of Wyoming.
They needed something, anything to use as probable cause to search the place.
But what?
“What did you do with the hunting rifle, Stewart?” the calm voice asked.
“I—uh, still have it,” whiney voice replied. “But I can get rid of it if you’d like.”
“Why would you keep it?” Wolfe’s tone was incredulous. “How incompetent are you?”
The sound of a fist striking skin followed by a muffled thud reached his ears. Duncan risked another glance around the drum to see someone lying on the concrete. Stewart, aka whiney voice.
One of the three men in charge had hit the underling hard enough to knock him unconscious.
And if he and Colt didn’t do something, then there was nothing to stop them from killing him.
“Get rid of him,” Wolfe said tersely. “I’m done here. Call me when you manage to get everything under control.”
Duncan tensed. Wolfe was going to get on his personal plane and get out of Wyoming unless they found a way to keep him there.
But how?
There was a scuffle as Stewart was picked up off the ground and tossed in the back of the limo. Duncan risked another glance around the oil drum and couldn’t see Travis Wolfe anywhere. He must have gone deeper into the hangar.
The other two men slid into the back of the limo as ordered. He eased back and glanced at Colt. “You take the limo, I’ll try to delay the plane.”
“How are you going to do that?”
Duncan shook his head because he didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that if Wolfe took off, then their chances of getting him in custody dropped significantly.
Duncan took a deep breath and lunged from behind the oil drums. Without hesitation, he darted inside the hangar as the plane began to roll past.
Without thinking, he grabbed onto one of the wings, as if his weight would be enough to stop it.
But of course, it wasn’t.
Someone from the limo must have noticed him dangling from the wing of the plane like a broken hood ornament because he heard someone yell out, “Hey! That’s the guy who’s been protecting the woman!”
He couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar of the airplane engines as the plane gained speed. He mentally braced himself, expecting at any moment to feel the searing pain from a bullet.
* * *
Chelsey watched the drama unfold with disbelief. What was Duncan doing hanging from the plane?
In some part of her mind she heard Slade calling the police even though they had no idea who within the department they could trust. She jumped down from the back of the cargo plane, the jarring movement causing her head and ribs to protest with pain.
It wasn’t easy to catch her breath, but she didn’t care. She sprinted out of the hangar toward the limo that had come to an abrupt stop.
“What in the—she’s alive?” someone shouted incredulously.
She’d blown her cover of pretending to be dead, but it didn’t matter.
Not if Duncan died for real.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he abruptly let go of the plane, falling and landing in a heap on the tarmac. Something whizzed past her head and after a few seconds it registered in a corner of her brain that one of the men from the limo was shooting at her.
Again.
“Get down,” Slade roared, grabbing her from behind.
She fell forward onto her hands and knees as Slade placed himself in front of her. Slade fired at the limo, shattering one of the windows. From where she was, she could see several things happening at once.
Colt stood and took aim, firing at the plane. Smoke billowed out from behind the aircraft, and it lurched to one side. She watched in horror as the plane crookedly descended back down to the runway.
Duncan ran toward the limo with his gun in his hand. “Police! Drop your weapons, now!”
Slade leveled his weapon. “US Marshals Service! Toss your guns down or we will shoot.”
When Colt turned, the men in the limo realized they were outnumbered. Even if they got a couple of shots off, one or more of them would die.
“Okay, okay!” Nettles caved first, tossing his gun down to the ground.
“Kick it away,” Duncan demanded.
Nettles did as he was told. Wesley Strand followed suit, tossing his weapon down and kicking it aside as well.
