The Christmas Target

by Charlotte Douglas

  Her expression changed, but he couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or confused.

  He tucked away in the corner of his mind a reminder to check with the florist about the availability of gardenias. First, however, he had to meet with his detectives to see if they’d come up with any clue as to who was trying to kill Jessica. And why.

  JESSICA SURVEYED THE LEDGERS on the desktop with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was gradually bringing order out of the chaos of Ross’s Shooting Star accounts. On the other, the progress was tedious, and it might take until the first of the year to complete her task.

  She would finish sooner if she worked evenings, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to abandon what had become a comfortable evening routine. Late every afternoon for the past four days, ever since Fiona and Courtney had left for Florida, Ross had joined her in his office. As soon as he returned to the ranch after his day’s work, he’d stoke the fire, pour them both a drink, and they’d settle in the chairs in front of the fireplace while he reported on the progress—or lack of—in the investigation.

  Just like an old married couple.

  The comparison jolted her, but she couldn’t escape its validity. She’d never felt so comfortable with another person, male or female, in her life as she did with Ross. She could be herself with him, not having to worry about professional or social impressions, but just enjoying his company, like that of a good friend.

  Except a good friend didn’t send her senses tingling as he did.

  But friendship was all they shared, she assured herself, or she’d have taken the next available flight home. Ross hadn’t tried to kiss her again, and no more floral tributes from the mysterious secret Santa had appeared on her pillow after he’d admitted sending the gardenias.

  As if conjured up by her thoughts, Ross stepped into the room. “Making progress?” he asked.

  She made a face, half scowl, half grin, and closed the ledger she’d been working on. “Cleaning up this act is like trying to move a mountain with a spoon.”

  “Ah, but persistence pays off.”

  “If I live to be a hundred and fifty,” she cracked, “I might finish.”

  “Having you around that long would be nice.” His tone was casual, and she could see only his back as he laid wood on the fire, but his words gave her a thrill.

  Until her common sense kicked in. If there was anywhere she didn’t want to spend the next one hundred and fifty years, it was in the wilds of Montana. The American Virgin Islands, however, she’d consider.

  An image of Ross, clad only in swim trunks and running through the surf, his body tan and lean, the sun glinting off his hair, formed in her mind before she gave herself a swift mental kick. Her feelings were merely the result of cabin fever. As soon as she left Montana and went back to the warm, open spaces of South Beach, Ross McGarrett would be a pleasant but distant memory, and her life would return to normal.

  “How about you?” She took the glass of wine he offered and sank into her usual seat by the fire. “Any progress in the investigation?”

  His drink in hand, Ross folded his long legs and sat opposite her. “Developments, but I wouldn’t call them progress.”

  “Another attack?”

  “No, thank God.”

  His voice was weary, and fatigue deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes. She understood why the people of Swenson County had elected him twice to the office of sheriff. No one in the county could care more about the welfare of its citizens than Ross did. Not solving the rash of crimes that plagued the area weighed visibly on him.

  He sipped his drink, then gazed at her with disappointment etching his face. “Looks as if Dixon Traxler’s definitely not a suspect.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “We’ve traced his activities since his release from prison, talked with his parole officer, were even given access to his financial records—”

  “To track potential payments to an accomplice?”

  Ross nodded. “Everything on the guy comes up squeaky clean. And no one else connected to his arrest or conviction has reported any problems.”

  “Then the attacks on me—”

  “Weren’t about you.” Ross gazed at her, eyes filled with guilt. “I should have sent you home.”

  “I’m a big girl. I make my own decisions.”

  “Either you have an enemy no one’s aware of, or someone’s trying to get at me through you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she insisted. “The day I came to town, only John Hayes knew I was associated with—”

  She suddenly recalled her wait in the café while the Crime Scene Unit secured the bank.

  “You’ve thought of someone?” he asked.

  “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Who?” he insisted.

  Jessica racked her brain, trying to recall the name on the waitress’s name badge. “Madge.”

  “At the café?”

  She nodded.

  “You think Madge is trying to kill you?” If his tone hadn’t told her, his expression would have indicated how preposterous he found her suggestion.

  “I told her you’d recommended the pies. She jumped to the conclusion that I was your friend.”

  “Madge has a heart of gold. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “But she also has a big, brassy voice. Everyone in the place must have heard her.”

  “How many customers were there?”

  Jessica tried to picture the restaurant, but she’d been too impatient for her meeting that day to pay close attention to her surroundings. “Maybe two or three.”

  “Do you remember what they looked like?”

  “All men. Stetsons, boots, blue jeans, tanned and weathered faces.”

  Ross grimaced.

  “I know,” Jessica said with a sigh. “I’ve just described half the county.”

  “At least it’s a lead. I can talk to Madge, see if she remembers—”

  “Sheriff—” The tall, skinny deputy who’d been on house duty that day stuck his head in the door. “Fire and Rescue just rolled.”

  “What’s up?” Ross asked.

  “Fire. At Longhorn Ranch.”

  “Mr. Kingsley’s place?” Jessica asked.

  Ross nodded. “Go give them a hand,” he ordered the deputy.

  “What about guarding Miss Landon?” the deputy said.

  Ross pushed to his feet. “She and I are right behind you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ross parked his vehicle directly behind the engine closest to the fire, unbuckled his seat belt and turned to Jessica. He’d been hesitant to bring her along and expose her to any danger, but he’d had to consider the possibility that a fire so close to the Shooting Star could be a diversionary tactic, intended to draw the inhabitants away. He’d decided Jessica was safer with him.

  Hell, this wasn’t the outing he’d been anticipating. He’d hoped to dazzle her with intimate dining at one of Billings’s best restaurants, then take in the newest chick flick at the multiplex. He disliked romantic movies, but for Jessica, he’d forgo his usual action-adventure favorite. For her, he’d put up with damn near anything to make the right impression, to show her that he cared. He’d even considered escorting her to the annual Swenson Christmas dance at the hotel, in spite of the fact that getting all gussied up in a suit and tie wasn’t his idea of fun. The torment would be worth it for the chance to hold her in his arms as they danced.

  He stole a glance at the woman beside him, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her hair dusted with snow, her blue eyes reflecting the dangerous flames filling the sky ahead. An unfamiliar feeling clutched his heart. She’d had that powerful effect on him the first moment he saw her, and with every passing encounter, her impact grew stronger. He’d been waiting all his life for Jessica to come along, and now that she had, he didn’t have a spare minute to spend with her alone.

  “Stay close to me,” he ordered, his voice grim.

  The flames had been visibl
e from the main road, leaping high into the star-studded night sky. At first, Ross had feared the main house was engulfed, but, after driving closer, had realized the fire was in a small outbuilding.

  Without protest, Jessica climbed from the car and joined him. Together, they stepped over hoses running from the pumper truck and approached a group of men watching the firefighters work to extinguish the blaze.

  “What have you got, Hank?” Ross asked the volunteer fire chief.

  “It’s my toolshed,” Carson Kingsley, standing next to Hank, said. “Went up like a Roman candle all of a sudden. I tried to put it out, but…” He shook his head sadly.

  Ross noted the older man’s singed eyebrows and the bandages a paramedic was applying to his hands.

  “Arson?” Ross asked Hank.

  The fire chief shrugged. “Won’t know till we can get in and investigate. Carson stores gas there for his tractor and other equipment. Could be spontaneous combustion. All that fuel makes a hell of a blaze.”

  Ross glanced at Jessica beside him, her face glowing in the flames, her eyes filled with sympathy for Carson, then turned back to Hank. “Any danger of this spreading?”

  Hank shook his head. “The wind’s light, and we have it under control. It shouldn’t—”

  The chief’s radio crackled to life. “We have a fire in town, Chief. Gerald Gibson’s house.”

  The chief started to curse, then, noting Jessica, stifled his words. He hit the microphone button. “Roll the other engine and call Grange County for assistance. I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll leave my second-in-command in charge here,” the chief said to Ross. “You staying, too?”

  Ross grasped Jessica by the elbow and pivoted her toward his car. “I’d better check it out.”

  On the road into town, Jessica turned to him. “Do you investigate every fire in the county?”

  “Not always. Gerald Gibson is our county tax collector.” He uttered a silent prayer of thanks that Courtney and Fiona were in Florida, out of harm’s way.

  “Do you think the fire at the tax collector’s house is connected to the other crimes against government officials?” Jessica asked.

  “Could be. I want to check it out.”

  “What about Mr. Kingsley? Does he work for the government, too?”

  Ross shook his head. “If the fire at Carson’s wasn’t a coincidence, it could have been a diversion, meant to draw firefighters to the other end of the county, away from Gibson’s.”

  Jessica shivered visibly.

  “You warm enough?” He wanted to pull her close, to assure her he’d protect her, but the console between the seats prevented that. Instead, he reached across and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Sorry to bring you out in this weather. I know you hate the cold.”

  “That’s the irony,” Jessica said, gazing up at the sky through the windshield. “It’s such a beautiful night, in spite of the freezing temperature. Most people are preparing to celebrate a holiday dedicated to peace on earth and goodwill toward men, but you’re searching for someone—or several someones—who want to wreak destruction on their neighbors.”

  “Tonight’s fires could have other explanations,” Ross said. “The Christmas season with its strings of lights, indoor trees, candles and other decorations, is a prime time for firefighters.”

  “Does Carson decorate his toolshed?”

  “Touché,” Ross responded.

  He’d tried to assuage her worries, but Jessica was too smart not to see the probabilities. If tonight’s fires were the acts of criminals stalking government officials, Ross hoped they’d been careless and left clues. Their luck at evading detection couldn’t last forever.

  If the so-called “freedom fighters” had set fire to Gibson’s house, their attacks were escalating. He had to catch them before someone else died. With that thought in mind, he keyed the mike on his radio. “Patch me through to Fire and Rescue.”

  In seconds, he was talking with the lieutenant already on-site at the Gibson fire.

  “Anyone hurt there?” Ross asked.

  “Negative,” came the response. “The family escaped, but the house is a goner.”

  “Thanks.” Ross felt both relief and dismay. The Gibsons were unharmed but had lost not only their home, but probably everything they owned.

  “This isn’t just a job with you, is it?” Jessica asked.

  “Swenson County is big in area, but small in population. I’ve known everyone here all my life. They’re like family.” He could feel the tension in the set of his jaw. “You mess with my family, you mess with me.”

  They drove the rest of the way into town in silence, the cheerful notes of carols on the radio an ironic counterpoint to his dark thoughts.

  By the time they reached the street where the Gibson house had stood, the fire was out, and the volunteers were cooling down the hot spots.

  Ross and Jessica stood on the fringes with the rest of the crowd, watching the mop-up. Ross used the opportunity to scan the crowd and make note of who was present. He caught sight of a familiar figure, passing cups of coffee and sweet rolls to the firefighters.

  “Madge,” he called. “Come over here.”

  The waitress from the café shouldered her way through the crowd to reach them. “Want some coffee, Sheriff?”

  “No, thanks, I—”

  “Hey,” Madge said, looking at Jessica. “I remember you. You were in the day of the bank robbery.”

  “That’s right,” Jessica said. “I waited in your café until the dust settled.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” Ross lowered his voice so only Madge and Jessica could hear. “Who else was in the café that day, when Miss Landon was there?”

  Madge puffed out her cheeks and closed her eyes, as if trying to remember. Then she let out her breath and looked at him. “Lots of excitement that day.”

  Ross nodded. “I don’t expect you to remember—”

  “Who could forget?” Madge said. “Before Miss Landon came in, we all watched the robber make his getaway with Josh on his heels.”

  “We?” Ross asked.

  “There were three customers,” Madge said. “Two of them regulars. Jack Randall and Carson Kingsley.”

  “And the third?” Ross prodded her.

  “Some stranger, just passing through, I guess. Never saw him before. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “Thanks, Madge. And thanks for helping out tonight. I know the guys appreciate it.”

  “And the gals,” Madge said with a wink. “Women are working with Fire and Rescue now, too.”

  Ross tried to process objectively the information Madge had just provided, setting aside the fact that Jack Randall was Courtney’s grandfather. Three men had heard Madge’s booming voice announce that Jessica was a friend of Ross’s. Jack Randall had expressed his dislike for Ross often enough. He blamed Ross for his daughter’s out-of-wedlock pregnancy, swore Ross was out to cheat him in their boundary dispute, and had made no secret that he held Ross accountable for his daughter’s death.

  “What do you think?” Jessica asked. “Any of Madge’s customers suspects?”

  “Jack Randall has plenty of reasons to strike out at me,” Ross admitted.

  “And Carson?”

  Ross shrugged. “Carson’s a weird duck. Hasn’t seemed quite right since his wife died. But homicidal? Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What about the third man,” Jessica said. “The stranger?”

  “Could have been someone just passing through.”

  Jessica nodded.

  “Then again,” Ross said, “he could have been there on purpose.”

  “An accomplice to the bank robbery?”

  “Possibly. Or a thug hired to hurt you. Someone who followed you to Swenson and the bank, then ran you off the road.”

  “Hey,” she raised her voice in alarm, then lowered it again after a glance at the nearby crowd. “I thought you’d ruled me out as the prime target.�
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  “I couldn’t find any evidence to link Traxler to any attacks on you. My gut, however, insists the man’s a fraud.”

  Jessica smiled, and the sweetness of her expression filled him with desire. “I agree Dixon’s religious conversion is a bunch of hooey, concocted to turn him some fast bucks, but I doubt he’s a killer. Or even has the gumption to hire one.”

  Ross stamped his feet to warm them, venting his frustration at the same time. “We’re back where we started. But I’ll check out Jack and Carson. Both use that highway regularly, and both drive dark pickups. First thing I’ll do is have a look at their vehicles.”

  “It can’t be pleasant,” Jessica said with obvious empathy, “having to investigate your neighbors.”

  “We’ve got trouble, Ross.” The fire chief joined them. “Arson. We can’t do a full investigation until tomorrow, but Gibson’s house was torched on purpose. There’re signs of an accelerant at the rear entrance. The Gibsons were lucky to get out alive.”

  “Smoke detectors?” Ross asked.

  “We found the remains of three,” the chief said with a scowl. “The batteries had been removed from all of them.”

  “My God,” Jessica muttered beside him.

  “If it hadn’t been for the family dog’s barking,” Hank continued, “none of them would have survived.”

  Anger surged in Ross. Rage at the inhumanity of whoever had set the fire and exasperation at his own inability to catch the culprit.

  “I’ll meet you here at first light,” Ross said to Hank. “We’ll see what we can find.”

  The chief nodded and returned to his crew.

  “Meanwhile—” Ross turned to Jessica “—there’s nothing else we can do here. I’m taking you home.”

  JESSICA STEPPED from the claw-footed antique bathtub, toweled off and slipped on her velour robe. A long soak in hot water had finally chased the physical chill from her bones, but she felt cold all over again when she recalled the cruelty of the arsonist who’d tried to kill an entire family tonight.