The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  As if the thought had given birth to reality, he heard the clatter of a helicopter. Careful not to disturb the snow covering him, he turned, scanning the sky with his binoculars.

  “Gotcha.” It seemed to hang in the bright, blue sky, growing slowly larger as it flew steadily closer. What it didn’t do is stop at the encampment. Instead, it turned toward the mountain, skimming the top of the trees, at one point turning the snow covering him into a small blizzard.

  He marked the direction with his compass, then started the laborious job of working his way back up into the trees. Looked like Grady had hidden depths and he intended to find them. He had no illusions about what would happen to Pru once she’d filled her purpose. No way he’d fly off the scent now.

  As for the problem of Leslie and the deadline, well, be easy enough to have him taken out for him. He was clean, but he knew some mercenaries who weren’t. He hadn’t lied when he told O’Brien he considered the guy a waste of space. Mostly he didn’t like the idea of jumping to O’Brien’s tune. Could he get Bryn to help him? She was a by-the-book girl or she had been. She’d loosened up some, but was it enough? He was surprised she hadn’t called him by now. He looked at his watch. He’d give her until he was to the top of that ridge to call him. If she didn’t, he’d call a merc he knew. Between Leslie and Pru there was no contest.

  FOURTEEN

  Leslie had planned to wait to kill again. He really had. It was his dad’s fault. It infuriated him when his father shut him out. He’d planned to be the inside guy, feeding info from the police to Grady. Only daddy wouldn’t let him. He’d turned to Donovan instead, sending him off like some damn errand boy.

  He’d come storming out of the office, intent on heading for the camp. Grady wasn’t going to keep him out of that action, too. He’d been living for the moment when Miss Tight-Ass Prudence found he was the one who had her father killed and had her kidnapped. He couldn’t wait to see the look in her eyes when she realized she was going to die, too. Girl that homely, he’d bet she was virgin. He’d fix that for her. Be a shame to send her off without knowing what she was missing.

  No way he was missing that. To hell with Grady and his dad. It was his plan and he had a right to be there as it unfolded. But outside he’d run into one of his dad’s friend’s vapid daughter. Bridget or Britney or maybe it was Barbara. She’d sent out the signal. He’d answered it. Even then, he thought, just dinner. As long as I don’t take her home…

  Then she’d wrapped herself around him while they danced. Had practically crawled inside his pants. What was the problem with girls now? They’d crawl into bed with anyone. Well, she wouldn’t do that again.

  He looked at her limp body. She looked more surprised than the hooker had, but she was younger and a hooker had to expect that maybe sometime someone was going to kill them. A hazard of the job, wasn’t it?

  The purple marks his hands had made on her throat were the same. Guess everyone bruised the same way. He hadn’t exactly had a stop watch, but seemed like she took about the same time to die. Maybe one of these times he should time it. Timing might matter at some point.

  He frowned. She was going to be harder to dispose of. That was the annoying part. He needed to be more careful here, on his home turf, which was why he’d been determined not to kill here. Didn’t want to launch a serial killer task force.

  A serial killer.

  I’m a serial killer, he thought. The idea wasn’t repulsive. Serial killers weren’t just about the killing. It was the battle of wits, the planning and execution. It wasn’t a stupid man’s game. He looked at what’s-her-name. She was a mistake. No wits there, just instinct. And anger.

  Which didn’t help him with his problem now. Serial killers don’t kill people they know. He’d been seen with her last night. Maybe seen leaving the parking lot with her. He felt a moment of panic. How long before someone missed her? This one would take some thought. She’d have to disappear. He’d probably take some heat, but if she didn’t turn up…

  He covered her body with a sheet, arranging her hair over her face as if she were sleeping—just in case one of the servants wandered in. They weren’t supposed to, but servants were like women. Only trust them to be where they weren’t supposed to be. He pondered the problem of disposal through his shower and thought he had a plan, but before he could get his pants on, or get her out of his bed, the bell rang. He’d have played not-at-home, but his Jag was in the drive. He pulled on a robe and went to the door. Through the glass panels he could see the two cops he’d toyed with last night.

  Let the battle of wits begin.

  * * * *

  Amelia woke slowly as the murmur of voices penetrated the strange thickness that held her body immobile. As consciousness returned, with it came little flashes of memory that made no sense. Faces. Voices. People who seemed to know her, but when she tried to bring them into focus, turned away from her, vanishing into the gray mist that pressed in on her from all sides.

  Despite her inability to move, she felt the sensation of movement. It was cold for a space, then warm again. Movement ceased. She was lying on something. Something that gave a bit underneath her and was scratchy against her skin. The voices grew louder, but she still couldn’t sort out words. After a struggle, she managed to open her eyes long enough to see she was in a cabin.

  Luke? She tried to say his name. Let him know she was awake, but sound lodged in her throat. The effort exhausted and she sank back into the fog with a feeling of relief.

  When she woke again, her head wasn’t clear, but at least the suffocating fog was gone. She was still in the cabin, but it wasn’t Luke’s cabin. It had the same split logs for walls, but the dimensions were different. She seemed to be in a bedroom. From her place on the four poster bed, she could see a dresser, a chair, a window liberally coated with frost. The furnishings were what you’d expect to see in a cabin. Rustic and sturdy with lots of picturesque looking knots in the wood.

  It felt like a “guy zone,” though she was still too fuzzy-headed to sort out why. The bed was comfortable, but her arm was crooked up at an odd angle. When she tried to arrange it more comfortably, she realized she couldn’t.

  She was handcuffed to the bed.

  With some effort, and a lot of discomfort, she squirmed her way into a position more comfortable for her shackled arm. At least they hadn’t cuffed the sprained wrist. She gingerly flexed it and winced. It seemed worse today. Rough handling?

  She’d thought it was awful to lose her memory, but this was far worse. She still had her clothes on under the blankets someone had piled on her, which was a relief, but not much. Someone had taken off her coat. She could see it on the chair. She’d been taken, manhandled while unconscious. What had happened to her while she was out? Her stomach muttered unpleasantly. Her head ached, too. The pain, which had been as three-sided as her bumps, had now migrated to a place behind her right eye. Whatever they had used to drug her had left her feeling lethargic and fuzzy-headed. Something thick and nasty coated her mouth, too.

  Behind the lethargy was cold, hard fear. Whatever it was that she’d escaped, it had now caught up with her. What did they want? Was this a simple kidnapping or something more?

  She managed to push a pillow behind her aching head and sagged back, flexing her cuffed hand to restore feeling. She remembered seeing Luke. He called her. Was running toward her when someone grabbed her. Then nothing.

  Nothing? Well, mostly nothing. She had a vague memory of movement and something else. But when she strained for it, her brain slapped her back by upping the pain stakes. With the past still off limits, that left only her very limited present, which could be summed up in one man—Luke.

  Is this where being spunky had gotten her? Handcuffed to a bed somewhere, never to see him again? She’d trade all her past memories to see him once more. She didn’t expect him to want her in his life, but she could wish for it, couldn’t she? It made no sense. They barely knew each other but she felt like she’d known him forever.
Or had she been looking for him forever? Something inside her recognized him as important to her, even if she couldn’t remember anything else. It was all she had to hang on to as someone fumbled with the door, then opened it.

  A man stood in the doorway holding a tray. A thin man with a ferrety face and a head topped with a riot of shockingly red hair.

  “I thought I heard you moving in here,” he said. He put the tray on the nightstand by the bed. “Do you need to…”

  Color ran up his face faster than it did hers.

  It helped to feel amused by it. Cleared her head some. She nodded. Nature couldn’t be denied, even when it embarrassed.

  He undid her cuffs at her wrist, leaving them hanging from the bed. “Wouldn’t try anything. We’re a long way from anywhere, and its damn cold out there.”

  She nodded again. The bathroom had no lock, so she did her business quickly, then took the time to splash water on her face. The face in the mirror over the sink was pale, but composed. What in her life had made it so easy for her to hide her feelings? Maybe it was better not to remember. Outside again, the man led her back to the room and secured her to the bed. She sat on the edge, her back straight, her knees together, and her hands on her knees.

  “You should eat,” he said, nodding encouragingly toward the tray, which held a glass of juice, some toast and a couple of pills.

  She looked at him.

  “For your headache,” he said. “Just Tylenol.”

  He sat in the chair, obviously not planning to leave until she’d eaten. It was hard with him watching, but she needed the food. After a few bites of toast her stomach settled down. She took the Tylenol, too. She needed to clear her head. The orange juice was the best. Cool and slightly tart, it cleared the nasty aftertaste out of her mouth. And it gave her a nice jolt of energy.

  Without conscious thought, she realized she’d already decided to resist, to escape if the opportunity arose, despite the cold and the possible isolation. For a moment, the veil over her memory flickered. She’d felt this way before. Maybe not this scared, but this trapped and determined. And she’d done something about it. The veil closed before anything but that feeling could escape, but she drew strength from knowing that she may not know a lot about herself, but Luke was right about one thing. She wasn’t a person who gave up—or she’d already be dead.

  She finished eating and wiped her mouth, then said in a colorlessly polite voice, “Thank you.”

  He looked pleased as he gathered up the tray. “Grady’ll be along shortly.”

  The comment had echoes of a doctor’s office, which was mildly amusing, unless the trend continued.

  “Grady would be my…host?” she asked primly, the sound of her own voice surprising her. She sounded like an old-fashioned school marm.

  It surprised her jailor, too. He straightened his shoulders, his face turning worried. “Well, yeah. Sort of. I guess.”

  After such a definitive response, why should she worry?

  He balanced the tray with one hand while he opened the door. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Knight?”

  Miss Knight? Amelia started to object but stopped herself. While it would be nice to know how they’d made such a mistake, if they knew they had the wrong person, well, letting her go was only one of the options available to them. She needed time to think before this Grady person came in. So much depended on what they wanted with her.

  “Some water, please.” Her look made him straighten his shoulders even more. It was almost comical. Was she a teacher in her forgotten life?

  “Sure.” He closed the door. There was sound of the lock being turned, then retreating footsteps on wood. The sound seemed to be going down, as well as away. Was she upstairs? The window was too frosted to see out, though a Monet wash of green left her with the impression of trees outside.

  The nightstand had a couple of drawers. In an odd twist, one held a Gideon Bible. The other one was empty. She couldn’t reach anything else. Okay, that meant she’d have to catch someone off guard when she was free. He hadn’t been armed, but then neither was she. Okay, what were her resources?

  She grinned wryly. Well, she had a knee. She’d just have to find the right time to use it.

  * * * *

  Luke stared at Leslie Merryweather. Something was going on with the guy, though, not knowing him, it was hard to put his finger on what. There was the obvious, but it was a bit early in the day to be pouring himself a drink. And in a bathrobe with his hair still wet. Unless…

  He looked around and spotted the discarded heels partially hidden by a plush looking chair near the stairs.

  “Very sorry to disturb you,” Luke said, dryly.

  Leslie followed his gaze to the shoes, then gave an almost embarrassed laugh. Luke’s gaze narrowed. Leslie didn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed about much. He exchanged a look with Mann, who shrugged.

  “Did you have something particular you wanted to ask me, gentlemen?”

  They had a lot they wanted to ask him. After chatting with other employees of Merryweather, he’d secured the top spot on their suspect list. It was all about access and opportunity. Only Leslie, Hamilton Merryweather and Prudence Knight had had the necessary access to have slipped Dr. Knight the digitalis. The major stumbling block was that Leslie hadn’t been in town the day of Knight’s heart attack, but they were checking the suspected medium of delivery—a special blend of coffee that only Knight drank. According to staff, Prudence didn’t drink coffee—yet another link to Amelia.

  Bryn was asking them to hold off on their questions. She’d talked to Donovan, who had reluctantly coughed up his first order from Prudence Knight’s kidnapper. Kill Leslie Merryweather. As far as he was concerned, it would save the tax payers money to let him fulfill his mission. Only reason to keep him alive, as far as he was concerned, was if he could tell them where Amelia was. Bryn had convinced Donovan to let her handle the “assassination,” hoping it would buy them time. On the up side, once he was in protective custody, they could sweat him a bit, see what fell out.

  “Perhaps you should sit down,” Mann said.

  Leslie looked at him, then at Luke. “Okay.” He sprawled in a chair, his robe barely covering his privates. “Now what?”

  The look of anticipation in his eyes tempted Luke to pop him. This guy liked trouble—for other people. Well, let’s see how he liked trouble for himself.

  “We have information that you’ve been targeted for…termination,” Luke said.

  Leslie twitched and his expression flickered between shock and surprise. It was obvious that this was not what he’d been expecting to hear. He got his face back under control, replacing shock with bravado. Behind the bravado was something else. Worry? Or was it something more? Luke was having a hard time getting a feel for the guy.

  Leslie jumped to his feet and freshened his drink before saying, “You must be joking.”

  “We’re not allowed to joke about threats,” Mann said, with a straight face even.

  “Our information is reliable,” Luke added.

  “Who?” Leslie’s bravado was showing holes.

  “Our informant is the man who is supposed to kill you.” It hadn’t been part of the plan to tell him that much, but now Luke felt compelled. He looked thrown off balance, but not the way Luke had expected him to. His expression wasn’t, this is nuts. You’re nuts. It was, this is wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen.

  “And that would be?”

  Mann was frowning at him, but Luke didn’t hesitate. “Donovan Kincaid is being pressured to kill you. Do you know why anyone would want you dead?”

  He went white as the old-fashioned sheet. He lifted his drink to his mouth, his hand shaking. “No, I can’t.”

  He reminded Luke of someone who just found out their girlfriend was cheating on them. “It would be better if you would tell us what you know.”

  Leslie didn’t say anything, just stared ahead. Finally Mann stood up.

  “We’re taking you into
protective custody, Mr. Merryweather. You’ll have to come with us.” He sounded almost gentle.

  That got his attention. He looked like he was going to protest, but must have realized it wouldn’t do any good. “I need to get dressed.”

  “Of course.”

  Luke watched him walk up the stairs. When they were alone, Mann said, “Thought you were losing it, but he knows, doesn’t he?”

  “He knows. He’s in it up to his eyeballs.” If he had helped to kidnap Amelia, Luke didn’t want any part of protecting the bastard. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he fought for control.

  “He’s a light weight,” Mann said. “He’ll turn.”

  Luke wasn’t so sure. He had the feeling that this betrayal was too personal—

  He pulled his gun and started for the stairs. “He’s going to run.”

  Mann pulled his piece and followed him up. Luke took the lead as they checked the rooms one by one. The last one was Leslie’s. The robe he’d been wearing was a puddle of white on the plush carpet. The closets stood open and looked rummaged through. The window was open, and there was a woman in his bed.

  A woman who didn’t move when armed men burst into the room. Luke padded over and eased back the sheet, the action reminding him of the first time he saw Amelia. He didn’t have to check her pulse to know there’d be no help for her. Her eyes were wide and shocked. Her dark hair covered her neck. Luke lifted the strands and found the bruises on her neck.

  That’s what he’d sensed about Leslie. Evil. Many in the world didn’t believe in evil, but cops did. He should have picked up on it sooner, but like Mann, he’d written him off as a lightweight. Looking at the woman, he’d bet a lot of people underestimated Leslie Merryweather.

  “Call in the crime scene boys, Mann. I gotta call Bryn and tell her we lost her victim.” Though that wasn’t worrying him as much as where Leslie was headed. He’d put Leslie in the quiver and fired him right at his partner. Who was probably holding Amelia.