by Lisa Jackson
“You said in the phone message that you’d be back in time for Thanksgiving,” she said to her sister.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.” Kelly’s sister relaxed a bit, sipping from her wine as Kelly took a seat on the couch and Matt leaned against the counter. “I wouldn’t want to explain to Mom and Dad that you weren’t going to show up at the house because of work.”
“Dad would understand. He was a cop.”
“Eons ago.”
“So you come from a family tradition of fighting crime,” Matt observed.
“Mmm. Dad, his father and, I think, my great-grandfather.”
“It beat mining,” Karla said. “Until Dad got shot and had to retire early. Disability.” She finished her glass of wine with a flourish. “So, how about you?” she asked him, though she expected she knew a lot more about his family than he did about hers. Like it or not, the McCafferty name was nearly legendary around this part of western Montana, and Karla was fishing. The smile on her face was about as warm as the bottom of a Montana well in the middle of winter. “What is it your family does?”
She didn’t bother to hide the bite in her words.
“Dad was a rodeo man turned rancher, bought the Flying M over fifty years ago and expanded that to include some other businesses around Grand Hope.”
Karla’s lips compressed and she cast a hard, darting glance at her sister. “He doesn’t remember, does he?”
“Remember what?” Matt demanded.
Little lines of irritation surrounded Karla’s lips but it was Kelly who answered. “Mom worked for your dad for a few years.”
“Not just a few,” Karla said, setting her empty glass onto the table. “She dedicated her life to that man, to her job as his secretary, or personal assistant, yeah, that’s what he called her.” She snorted. “And what happened when things started to go bad for your father’s businesses? Mom was history. Just like that.” Karla snapped her fingers for emphasis and her cheeks had turned a bright, hot scarlet. “No job, no retirement fund, no damned golden parachute. Nothing.”
“Wait a minute—you said she was his secretary?”
“And more. She was like his right-hand woman, his executive assistant. Surely you remember her. Eva. Eva Dillinger.”
“Eva?” The name did have a familiar ring, but Matt had never spoken to the woman. He’d only heard her name a couple of times in passing when John Randall had mentioned her, but Matt hadn’t paid much attention. He was too self-involved at the time. “I guess Dad did mention her once in a while.”
“Once in a while? I hope to shout he did,” Karla said with a shake of her head. She glanced at the open bedroom door where Kelly’s yellow robe was sliding off the messed bed. Her lips puckered even more. She seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and stood. “Maybe I’d better leave,” she said, and some of her anger dissipated. “I think I interrupted something.”
“You stay.” Matt glanced at his watch. “It’s time I was heading back, anyway.” He drained his glass and set it on the edge of the counter. Reaching for his jacket, he said to Kelly, “Just let me know if you learn anything else about what happened to my sister.”
“I will.” Kelly walked him to the top of the stairs where he paused to zip his jacket.
“I’ll talk to you later, oh…” He held up a long finger. “There is one more thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked, visibly tensing.
“Have a good trip.”
“I will.”
He turned to Karla. “Nice meetin’ ya.”
“You, too,” she said, though the words seemed to strangle her. She was watching him as if he were the devil incarnate and Matt couldn’t let it go.
With an exaggerated wink toward Karla, he turned on his heel, slipped his arms around Kelly’s waist and dragged her close to him. “Thanks for the hospitality, Detective. Now, don’t you forget me.” He leaned forward and kissed her. Hard. Like he intended to ravish her body and never stop. She stiffened, then slumped slightly. He let her go, she stumbled back a step, then he winked at Karla again and headed down the stairs.
“Oh, my,” Karla whispered, her gaze following him as he disappeared. Her eyes rounded and one hand covered her heart. “Oh…my.”
Kelly steeled herself for the barrage she was certain was headed her way.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Karla accused, but some of the fury had left her voice and it was replaced by an emotion akin to awe.
Downstairs the front door opened, then slammed shut. Matt McCafferty was gone. A few seconds later an engine sparked to life.
“Well…you are, aren’t you?” Karla demanded.
“No, of course not,” Kelly snapped, stunned as she found her wineglass, polished off the last drops of chardonnay and gathered her wits. In love? With Matt McCafferty? Her heart pounded a million beats a minute at the thought. Oh, God, was she? Could she possibly have fallen for the smart-aleck, rogue of a cowboy? “That’s ridiculous.”
“I see it in your eyes,” Karla countered as she walked to the window and peeked through the blinds to the wintry night outside. “I can’t believe it, Kelly. Someone’s managed to melt the ice around your heart and he’s a damned McCafferty.” Folding her arms across her chest, she clucked her tongue, cocked her head and eyed her sister as if she’d never seen Kelly in such a state. “Another time, I’d say we should celebrate, but since the man of your dreams is John Randall’s son, I think it would be a better idea if I called a priest and asked for an exorcism.”
“Very funny,” Kelly grouched.
“It’s not, I know, but really, are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind? Mom and Dad are gonna flip when they find out and your boss will probably fire you. I mean, come on, what about the investigation?”
“Mom and Dad don’t run my life, my boss can’t tell me what to do when I’m not on duty and the investigation is still ongoing. I haven’t compromised anything.”
“Yet,” Karla said, unconvinced. She walked to the bedroom door and looked pointedly inside. “But it wouldn’t be long.”
“It’s none of your business and you’re borrowing trouble.” Kelly carried the wineglasses to the sink and her sister padded after her.
“I don’t think I have to borrow any. You’ve got enough to last us both for the rest of our lives. Oh, Kelly, don’t be dumb, okay?” Karla rapped her fingers around her sister’s upper arm. “The McCaffertys are bad news, all of them. You can’t trust any one of them as far as you can throw them.”
“I’ve heard this lecture before.”
“Excuse me, I thought you were the one who gave it. Just listen, for God’s sake. Whatever you do, Kelly,” Karla advised with all the wisdom of someone who’d made more than her share of mistakes when it came to affairs of the heart, “don’t fall in love with Matt McCafferty.”
“I won’t.”
“It would be a devastating mistake.”
“I said, ‘I won’t.’”
“And I think you’re a liar. It’s probably already happened.” Karla held up her hands as if to ward off any further protests. “But if you are in love with him, you’re in trouble. Deep trouble. All you’ll get out of it is a broken heart. That, I can guarantee.”
Chapter 9
“Where are you going?” Slade asked as Matt, hiking the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, hurried down the stairs. Slade was standing by the fireplace in the living room with a clear view of the foyer and bottom step. Standing in stocking feet, warming the backs of his calves by a slow-burning fire, he cradled a cup of coffee in his hands and had been paying attention to Larry Todd, who, Matt gleaned from the tail end of the conversation, was explaining the need for a new pole barn.
“So it wouldn’t cost that much, as it’s basically a roof on poles. It would just give the stock some more shelter and make feeding easier.”
“I don’t see why not,” Slade replied, then looked past Larry to the bottom of the stai
rs.
Matt paused in the archway and explained, “I hope you and Thorne can hold down the fort. I’m gonna be spending a couple of days in Seattle.”
“Don’t tell me, the lady detective is there.” Slade’s smile was downright evil, and with the scar running down one side of his face and the antlers mounted over the mantel seeming to be growing out of his head, he looked even more fiendish. “Right? Detective Dillinger is there.”
Matt didn’t bother to answer. “On my way back, I’ll stop by my place, check in with Kavanaugh, and be back by Thanksgiving.”
“That’s only few days away. And Nicole mentioned something about both of us going into town to make sure our tuxes for the wedding fit.”
“Did she?” Matt wasn’t deterred.
“She’ll be mad as a wet hen if you don’t take care of this. The wedding’s set to go as soon as Randi wakes up.”
“The tux will fit fine, the wedding will go on without a hitch, and they’ll get married,” Matt bit out, his temper starting to control his tongue. “Tell her not to get her knickers in a knot. Randi is not even conscious yet. As I said, I’ll be back in a couple of days.” He clomped down the hall toward the kitchen and the seductive scent of coffee. He’d woken up in a bad mood, having slept poorly, his dreams peppered with images of Kelly—sexy, hot images that had forced him to a shower that felt sub-zero this morning.
He passed the den. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorne, his casted leg propped by a corner of the desk, a phone crammed to one ear, his black eyebrows pulled into a thick line of consternation as he read the monitor of his computer.
“I’m outta here,” Matt said, and Thorne, absorbed in his conversation, took a second to glance up. He held one finger aloft, signifying Matt should wait a second. Probably for orders. Matt wasn’t in the mood. “Be back in a couple of days.”
“Hold on, Eloise, looks like I’ve got a crisis here,” Thorne said into the receiver, then turned all of his attention on his middle brother. “Where the hell are you going?”
Matt repeated himself. “Striker says I should keep an eye on the police, and since the sheriff’s department is sending Kelly Dillinger to Seattle, I decided that I should tag along.”
“Does she know it?”
“Nope.”
“Thanksgiving is in three days.”
“I know, I know, and Slade was already on my case about the tux. I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
“You’d better.” Nicole’s voice preceded her, and Matt inwardly groaned as he turned to face his soon-to-be sister-in-law. Her hair was pinned back and she was wearing a crisp white blouse, dark slacks and a wide belt. A briefcase swung from her fingers, as she was on her way to the ER at St. James Hospital. She took her place in the doorway next to him. “If you don’t,” she warned, her lips quirking as she fought a smile, “I’ll just have to tar and feather you, then skin you alive.”
“Thanks, Doctor. Anything else?”
“That should do it. For now.”
“Are you always this much fun?” Matt grumbled.
“Only when I want something.” She smiled sweetly, then rested a shoulder against the door frame and turned her attention to Thorne. “I’ll look in on Randi, and Jenny should be here any minute to see to the twins and the baby. Juanita’s feeding him right now. I kissed the girls goodbye, but they both fell back to sleep, so they shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Thorne grumbled, but his eyes had brightened at the sight of Nicole.
She chuckled, the sound deep and low. “I’ll call them later.” Sliding a glance at her brother-in-law-to-be, she added, “You might want to say goodbye to your nephew.”
“I will.”
“Good.” She blew a kiss to Thorne, then walked briskly down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Thorne’s gaze followed her, his important call temporarily forgotten as he watched the sway of her hips. Boy, did he have it bad. When the lovebug bit Thorne McCafferty, it wasn’t just a tiny nip. Thorne had been swallowed whole.
“I’ll call,” Matt said, and followed his future sister-in-law to the kitchen. As Nicole stated, Juanita was cradling the downy-haired baby in her arms and singing something that sounded like a Spanish lullaby to J.R. The baby blinked his round eyes and stared at the housekeeper-cum-nanny as if he was mesmerized.
Matt poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot simmering on the coffeemaker. Juanita was doing a helluva job with the kid, and Jenny Riley, Nicole’s babysitter, was a godsend. But, by rights, little J.R. should be with his mother. Right now Randi should be the one singing to him, cuddling him, even nursing him. The muscles in the back of Matt’s neck tightened as he thought of the bastard who’d tried to kill his sister. Not once, but twice. Who the hell was he? Could he possibly be J.R.’s missing father? That would be a bitch. The poor kid would be screwed up for life. Matt couldn’t imagine saying, Yeah, J.R., we didn’t know who your father was, but it turned that he didn’t claim you and tried to kill your mother while she was pregnant with you, and when that didn’t work, tried again when she was in a coma in the hospital.
Still in a black mood, Matt took two long swallows from his cup, then tossed the dregs into the sink.
“You’re leaving?” Juanita asked, eyeing his duffel bag.
“After he gets fitted for his tux,” Nicole said. She was half-serious, half-teasing. She sipped from her coffee cup and rested a hip against the counter.
“I’ll take care of it.” Tapping J.R.’s button of a nose, Matt said, “Don’t give anyone any trouble, okay?” The baby cooed and Matt felt that familiar pull on his heartstrings that had become a part of his life here at the Flying M, new emotions that both J.R. and Kelly evoked in him.
Damn it all, anyway, what was happening to him? Ever since he’d heard the first news of Randi’s accident, he’d changed. Angry at himself and the whole damned world, he squared his hat upon his head and ignored Juanita’s protests that he needed a real breakfast before he left.
* * *
A broken heart indeed, Kelly thought the next day as she slid behind the wheel of her rental car at the Sea-Tac airport. That would be the day. But as she drove through the tangle of traffic toward downtown Seattle, flipping on her windshield wipers against the steady rain, she knew there was a smidgen of truth in her sister’s concerns. She was falling in love with Matt McCafferty and it was a monumental mistake. Mon-u-men-tal.
But, no matter how she tried to talk herself out of seeing him again, she knew she wouldn’t. It was all part of that moth-and-flame scenario where she was attracted to something that would ultimately burn her. “Fool, fool, fool,” she admonished as she switched lanes, brake lights flashed in front of her, and someone honked loudly. She found the address of the Seattle PD, and after scouring the parking lot, squeezed the rental into a tight spot. Dashing through the rain, she headed into the building.
She spent the next five hours at the police station talking with a friendly, heavyset detective who had been handling information on Randi McCafferty. Oscar Trullinger told her that so far no one could see that the book Randi had been writing was connected to the attacks upon her in any way and that they had no new information. Of the men she’d been associated with, none seemed likely to hold a grudge against her. Sam Donahue was currently living in western Washington on a ranch outside of Spokane; Joe Paterno, the photojournalist, was on assignment in Alaska; and Brodie Clanton, whose great-grandfather had founded the Clarion, was out of the country, vacationing in a villa in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
How convenient that all of the men Randi McCafferty had dated weren’t anywhere near Seattle. Too convenient, she thought as she drove to the offices of the Seattle Clarion. Located on the third floor of a brown brick building near Pioneer Square, the offices of the newspaper weren’t much different from what she expected. Inside, the once-open rooms were broken up by modular units of soundproof walls where cluttered desks were occupied by a dozen or s
o reporters all typing on keyboards of computers, or talking on the phone, or scanning news reports on small television sets. Through the windows, views into other buildings and a few glimpses of the gray sky and green waters of Puget Sound were visible.
“Can I help you?” a sober receptionist with doelike eyes asked.
“I’d like to speak to Bill Withers,” Kelly said, and flashed her badge. “Detective Kelly Dillinger. I’m from Grand Hope, Montana. I have some questions about Randi McCafferty.”
The receptionist offered what might be considered a smile. “Mr. Withers isn’t in right now.”
Kelly wasn’t surprised. “How about Joe Paterno or Sara Peeples?” she asked, though, again, she anticipated the answer.
“Joe’s on assignment, won’t be back until tomorrow. But Sara’s in. I’ll let her know you’re here.” Without waiting for a reply, she pushed a button and left the appropriate message.
Within two minutes a small woman with a long face, oversize features and tousled blond curls appeared. She wore a short fitted dress, boots, jacket and half a dozen bracelets that jangled as she walked.
“You’re Detective Dillinger?” Sara asked. “I’m Sara, and I’m really glad you’re here. How’s Randi?”
“Holding her own.”
“Come on back, my desk is a mess, but we can talk there.” She led Kelly through a maze of desks and past a fax machine and copy center to a desk in the corner, near what appeared to be an adjacent office dedicated to photography. “I heard Randi’s still in a coma. That someone might have tried to kill her.”
“That’s what we’re looking into,” Kelly admitted.
“Wow.” Sara’s smile twisted at the irony. “You know, the paper reports this kind of thing all the time, but it doesn’t really touch you until it’s someone you know. Someone who’s your friend or relative.”