His question surprised her. “You’ve never heard of him?”
“We don’t hear of a lot of people in this part of the world,” Ross said irritably. “How about filling me in.”
Jessica couldn’t believe anyone with a television hadn’t heard of Traxler. Several years ago, she couldn’t turn on a network or cable news show without seeing his snarling face. Then she recalled there hadn’t been a TV in Ross’s office or living room. With running the ranch and serving as sheriff, he probably had no time for viewing.
“Dixon Traxler was CEO of Traxler-Hartman,” she explained, “the accounting firm for Q-Tonics.”
Recognition dawned on Ross’s face, chasing away his angry look. “The huge electronics outfit that went bust several years ago. I remember that.”
“It was the first in a string of corporate scandals,” Jessica said. “Their executives, with help from Traxler-Hartman accountants, cooked the books, leaving their shareholders high and dry and their employees pensionless.”
“What’s Traxler doing here?”
His question sent a chill down Jessica’s spine that even Fiona’s sable couldn’t quell. “Last I heard of him,” she answered, “he was sentenced to one of those cushy, country club–style federal prisons—after paying several million dollars in fines.”
“Why did he threaten to kill you?” Ross demanded.
Jessica lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. “Because Max Rinehart and Associates were instrumental in blowing the whistle on Traxler-Hartman. We were called in by the board of Q-Tonics to evaluate the company’s financial health. Max put me in charge, my first major assignment.”
“And you uncovered the fraud?”
Jessica laughed sharply. “Uncovered isn’t the right word. More like stepped into it ankle deep. Traxler was so greedy, he wasn’t careful. Any Girl Scout could have followed his paper trail.”
“So what’s he doing in Swenson County?” Ross asked again.
“Maybe he was released early on good behavior. As for his being here, maybe that’s coincidence.”
Ross shook his head, his expression fierce. “I’m not buying that. You say he threatened you?”
Remembering the venom in Traxler’s warning all those years ago, Jessica shivered. “He was an equal-opportunity intimidator. He threatened everyone. Even the media. After being caught and convicted, he was mad at the world.”
Ross squinted through the icy windshield at the vehicle Traxler had driven. “Is that the car that drove you off the road?”
Jessica followed his gaze. “It’s an SUV, not a pickup. And the windows aren’t tinted.”
“Traxler could have switched cars.” Ross pulled a notebook from his pocket and scribbled the license-plate number. “I’ll have my deputies check with dealers and rental companies in the area. See if anyone turned in or traded a damaged truck.”
“Look,” Jessica explained, “Dixon Traxler gives me the willies and is as mean as they come. He didn’t hesitate to rob folks blind, people who needed their money to live on. But I don’t think he’d attempt murder.”
Ross cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“He’s too big a coward. And he never gets his hands dirty. At Q-Tonics, his underlings did the stealing—at his direction, of course.”
“So he could hire someone to do his killing for him?” Ross’s voice was as cold as the rapidly dropping temperature in the car.
His implication jolted Jessica. “I hadn’t thought of that. Even after paying his fines and court costs, I’m sure the man has millions socked away.”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t take millions to hire a killer,” Ross said between gritted teeth. “Just the luck to find someone greedy and evil enough to do the job.”
Jessica didn’t know if she was trembling from the cold or the subject. “So what do we do?”
Ross must have noticed her discomfort. “First we get you inside where it’s warm. Then we find out what Traxler’s doing in this corner of Montana.”
He slid from the car, circled it and opened her door. Jessica hopped out, glad for the protection of Fiona’s furs. Ross took her hand and tucked it beneath his arm. “Don’t want you to slip on the ice,” he explained.
His concern warmed her, even in the subarctic windchill, but his caution was unnecessary. The sidewalks were clear, apparently salted and sanded by the Chandlers for the arrival of their guests, but Jessica didn’t draw away. Her glimpse of Dixon Traxler, on top of everything else that had happened since her arrival in Montana, left her shaken. Her closeness to Ross was a comfort and made her feel safe.
For the moment.
INSIDE THE BRIGHTLY LIGHTED FOYER of the Chandler home, the sounds and smells of the holidays greeted arriving guests. Ross took a deep breath of air fragrant with freshly cut evergreens, bayberry candles and a melange of spices. A sound system, barely audible above the babble of voices emanating from the great room, played Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.”
But the familiar holiday atmosphere brought him no happiness. Already frustrated by the fact that Kathy’s murder had gone too long unsolved, he worried now whether another individual with homicidal intent had entered his district, or whether his old nemesis had reared his ugly head. Ross’s days wouldn’t be merry or bright, the crooning Crosby notwithstanding, until he’d solved the rash of crimes that plagued Swenson County. As in any homicide investigation, until the perp was caught, everyone was a suspect. Even his friends. That thought gave him no pleasure, but only strengthened his resolve.
A maid, dressed in black with a crisp white apron, took their coats and helped Jessica tug off her boots. Ross watched as Jessica, mouthwateringly sexy in her stunning red dress and strappy heels, shed her sable, and he was momentarily distracted. Every man in the house would envy him when he walked in with her.
Reluctantly, he forced his attention from the creamy smoothness of her bare shoulders and the delectable turn of her slim ankles and reminded himself of his duty. He had a killer to catch. And perhaps another would-be murderer as well.
Jessica leaned toward him. “What if we find that Traxler has a perfectly innocent reason to be in Swenson?” she asked softly, as if she’d been following his thoughts.
“I’ll still have my deputies check his every move for the last two days,” Ross said.
A tiny frown creased the skin between her feathery eyebrows. “You’re serious?”
“Attempted murder does that to me.”
“But it’s not Traxler’s style.”
Ross thought for a moment. “I’ll also have my homicide detectives contact others involved in Traxler’s trial—the attorneys, the judge, jury members—to see if attempts have been made to harm any of them.”
Her magnificent blue eyes widened in alarm. “You don’t think Max might be in danger? He’s like a father to me.” She bit her lip nervously. “If anything happened to him…”
“We’ll put him on alert, just in case.”
Ross felt an irresistible urge to pull her into his arms, right there in front of God and half of Swenson County, and to swear to keep her safe, but he forced himself to keep his distance. If the morning’s shooter hadn’t been Traxler, but someone out to get at the McGarretts, the last impression Ross wanted to give was that Jessica was anything more than a houseguest. After all, that’s all she was.
Yeah, right. Then why is your brain racing, trying to think of ways to keep her from leaving tomorrow? his conscience demanded.
I’m just trying to keep her safe, in case Traxler’s a threat, he argued with himself.
“Ross, glad you could make it!” Judge Harry Chandler’s booming voice interrupted Ross’s inner debate. “Your department’s been so busy lately, I was afraid you couldn’t come.”
“Hello, Harry. You know I wouldn’t miss your annual bash. This is Jessica Landon, our houseguest.”
With impressive ease and graciousness, Jessica offered their host her hand. “Thank you for including me tonight.”
Chandler, who looked more like a cattle driver than a judge with his weather-beaten face, ruddy cheeks, thinning red hair and bowlegged build, beamed at Jessica with obvious appreciation. “Glad to have you, little lady. Fiona’s told us all about you. Julie!” he boomed across the room to his wife. “Come over here. There’s somebody I want you to meet.”
Julie Chandler, tall, dark, rake thin and elegantly stylish in a long black, beaded dress, the antithesis of her homespun husband, threaded her way through the crowd. Strange bedfellows, Ross always thought, every time he saw the pair together. Julie was as polished as her husband was rough-hewn, but every bit as friendly.
“Welcome to Swenson.” The judge’s wife extended her hand to Jessica when her husband introduced them “You must have lunch with me while you’re here.”
“Thanks, but I’m leaving tomorrow,” Jessica said.
Chandler’s bushy eyebrows shot upward. “So soon?”
“Miss Landon’s from Miami,” Fiona, who’d just joined them, said quickly. “The cold is too much for her.”
The judge scratched his chin. “I can understand that. Winters here take getting used to. Just glad to hear you weren’t scared away by that stray shot this morning.”
It was Jessica’s turn to look surprised.
“Not much gets by the judge,” Ross explained. “He keeps a scanner radio in his study. Monitors my department and the state patrol.”
“Come with me.” Julie took Jessica’s arm. “Let me introduce you to everyone. You don’t mind, do you, Ross?”
Ross was surprised to find that he did. The time he’d have to spend with Jessica was ticking away. He couldn’t kid himself by insisting he wanted to stay close to protect her. In the middle of the crowd in the Chandlers’ home, she was probably as safe as she’d be anywhere.
“Enjoy yourself,” Ross said to Jessica. “And don’t forget to sample the stuffed mushrooms. They’re Julie’s specialty.”
His grandmother and Jessica accompanied Julie into the crowd, and Ross turned to the judge. “Hate to take you away from your party, but I need a minute alone.”
Chandler’s expression sobered. “Let’s move into my study.”
Ross followed the judge down the hall into a mahogany-paneled room, its walls lined with shelves filled with law books. The aroma of pipe tobacco hung in the air.
Chandler closed the door behind them, blocking out the hubbub from the party rooms, and turned to Ross. “What’s up?”
“Dixon Traxler.”
“What about him?”
“What’s he doing here?”
“I invited him.”
“Why?”
Chandler bristled. “Since when do I have to vet my guest list with the sheriff?”
“Since one of your guests made a death threat against a guest of mine.”
Chandler’s irritation turned to puzzlement. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Jessica Landon.” Ross struggled to remain objective. Just the sound of her name on his lips made his thoughts wander to the effect she had on him. “Her firm blew the whistle on Traxler-Hartman. Traxler swore he’d make her pay. She comes to town, two attempts are made against her life, and then I find out Traxler’s here, too. I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” Chandler broke into a smile, waved Ross into a seat and took the chair opposite him. “Dixon was my college roommate. I invited him here months ago. He enjoys hunting, and so do I.”
Ross wondered just what kind of prey Traxler had in mind. “He bring his own gun?”
“You know he can’t own a gun,” Chandler said. “He’s a convicted felon. I’ve loaned him one of mine.”
“A .223 caliber with a scope, by any chance?”
“Now, look here—”
“What will your constituents think,” Ross demanded, “of you fraternizing with an ex-con?”
Chandler shook his head. “You really need to stay in better touch with the rest of the world, Ross.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Traxler’s prison experience has been all over the national news.”
“Prison experience?”
“Dixon found religion while he was serving his time,” the judge explained. “Started a prison ministry. Even wrote a book. It hit the stores last week and is already a bestseller.”
“You believe him?” Ross knew too many socio-paths who had faked conversions from a life of crime. He had to view Traxler with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“He’s paid his debt to society,” Chandler said. “And he’s shown remorse.”
“Mind loaning me the gun he’s been using?” Ross asked.
“Got a warrant for it?”
Ross grimaced. “You know damn well I don’t, since you’re the one who’d have to issue it.”
“I don’t want to embarrass my guest.”
“Then don’t tell him. Just slip me the gun. I’ll have it checked quickly and give it back to you.”
Chandler heaved to his feet. “All right. Have one of your deputies pick it up tomorrow.”
“Where was Traxler this morning?”
Chandler shrugged. “Sleeping in, probably. He’s been staying at the hotel. Didn’t want to get in the way of Julie’s party preparations. He’s a thoughtful guy.”
Maybe too thoughtful, Ross mused. Prison gave a man plenty of time to ponder, to plot his revenge. On the other hand, maybe Traxler had found religion behind bars. Stranger things had happened. Ross wasn’t cutting Traxler any slack, however, until his investigation proved the man was clean.
In the meantime, he wanted to keep Jessica close and out of Traxler’s reach. To do that, he’d have to convince her not to return to Miami until his inquiries had ruled Traxler either in or out.
And what will you use as an excuse to keep her here after that? an inner voice prodded him.
Ross thrust the question away. For now, he had to deal with one problem at a time.
JESSICA CAUGHT SIGHT of Ross immediately when he and Judge Chandler returned. In a room filled with tall men, Ross towered above the others. His gaze sought hers, but she couldn’t decipher the look he gave her. He left the judge, who hurried into the foyer to greet new arrivals, and worked his way through the crowd toward her.
“Have you met everyone?” he asked when he joined her and Julie.
Jessica nodded. “But please don’t ask me to repeat names. My head’s still spinning from so many new faces.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Julie said, “I should refill the punch bowl.” Their hostess headed toward the kitchen.
“Where’s Fiona?” Ross asked.
Jessica nodded toward a corner beside the huge fireplace of mountain stone dominating the far wall of the room. “Who’s she talking to? That’s one person I didn’t meet.”
“Carson Kingsley. He owns the ranch south of ours. I’m surprised he’s here. He usually avoids social gatherings.”
“He doesn’t look very happy.”
“Carson’s had a tough time. His wife died several years ago. He took it hard. Still does.”
Jessica studied Ross. He, too, had lost a wife, and she couldn’t help wondering how deeply he still grieved. Although the depth of his grief was none of her concern, she reminded herself. After all, she was leaving tomorrow and would never lay eyes on Ross McGarrett again.
The realization made her unexpectedly sad, but she chalked up the feeling to the incessant Christmas music playing in the background. The holidays always made her unhappy. She’d be glad to return to Miami where she could avoid the sentiments of the season by holing up in her condo until the annual insanity passed.
“You can’t leave tomorrow,” Ross said suddenly.
Jessica viewed him with alarm. “Another blizzard? Please don’t tell me the flights will be grounded.”
Ross shook his head and nodded across the room toward Dixon Traxler, surrounded by a crowd of obvious admirers. “Haven’t heard the weather
report, but there’re other reports I want to check before you head out on your own.”
As if aware of their scrutiny, Traxler looked their way and started across the room toward them. Jessica could feel Ross stiffen beside her. She didn’t relish facing her old adversary and was glad for Ross’s comforting presence as Traxler descended on them.
“Jessica Landon,” Traxler said with unexpected warmth, reaching for her hand. “What a surprise! What are you doing in Montana?”
Suppressing her revulsion, Jessica allowed him to grasp her fingers, but only briefly. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“Visiting old friends,” Traxler said. “Your being here, too, is serendipitous. I’ve been meaning to look you up.”
“To carry out your threat?” The words slipped out before Jessica could bite them back.
Traxler looked stunned. “To apologize. I deserved my punishment and more. At the time, I wanted to shift the blame to you. But I’ve finally admitted that if I hadn’t committed the crime, you wouldn’t have caught me.”
Surprise left her tongue-tied. Ross stepped in to fill the conversation gap. “Noble sentiments,” he commented, his rich voice heavy with irony.
“And absolutely sincere,” Traxler insisted. “I’m a changed man. I have something for you, Jessica. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Do you believe him?” Ross asked when Traxler was out of earshot.
“As much as I believe in Santa Claus,” Jessica said. “But changed or not, he still gives me the creeps.”
Before she could say more, Traxler was back, holding an object toward her. “This is for you.”
Jessica reached for it, but Ross intercepted it.
“It’s only a book,” Traxler said with a bit of a whine.
Ross handled the volume gingerly, as if expecting it to explode. His actions informed Jessica that the sheriff didn’t trust Traxler, either. Once Ross had flipped through the pages and apparently convinced himself the book was harmless, he gave it to her.
Dixon Traxler’s smiling face stared back at her from the cover. The title, A New Man, A New Life, was emblazoned in brilliant white across the royal-blue dust jacket.
The Christmas Target Page 8