“That’s right,” Kam said, “you grew up at your mother’s side meeting and shaking hands with all kinds of politicians from around the world.”
Nodding, Casey added some more food to her plate. “You have to remember, Kam, they all put on their pants the same way as we do.” She grinned. “It levels the playing field.”
Chuckling, Kam and Wes nodded.
CARTER PEYTON WENT THROUGH the motions of meeting and greeting the heavy-hitting monied couples in the room. He worked the room with his fluttering wife at his side. There was a secret joy in watching Joseph and Barbara Elsworth suddenly simper like beta wolves as he strode over to them. Peyton knew that with monied people you either were the commander in charge or nothing at all. With his shoulders squared, chin slightly up and an air of disdained authority, he presented forty-year-old Barbara with an air kiss and gave Joe a strong, solid handshake.
“Nice party,” Joe said, releasing his hand.
“Thank you,” Carter murmured, turning to his wife, who was all smiles. “Clarissa, as you know, deserves all the credit.”
“Tell me, Carter,” Barbara said in a conspiratorial tone, “who is that young woman over there with Kam Trayhern? She’s new. I don’t recognize her. Should we know her?”
Peyton turned. Instantly he froze. It was a momentary twinge on his part. Did they see his gut reaction? Damn! That was Casey Cantrell, the woman Matt Sinclaire was interested in! Opening his mouth and then shutting it, Carter was at a loss for words.
“Oh,” Clarissa wheedled, “that’s someone you should know, Barbara.” She went on to tell the couple all about Casey’s famous mother, Alyssa Trayhern-Cantrell, who had raised millions for charity. Instantly, the couple was focused on the woman, who was now sitting down and eating.
Carter tasted panic and it had a burnt taste. He’d had no realization of any of Casey Cantrell’s background. Cursing silently, he glared in her direction and then quickly masked it. Suddenly, he wanted to escape this cloying, suffocating gala. Carter hated them. The amount of money raised depended upon how you simpered and begged for it from all those who had it to give. Feeling diminished by the expectations of the powerful group, Carter wished for the thousandth time that Gloria was still alive. She had been the perfect politician’s wife: neither seen nor heard from. Clarissa, on the other hand, was like a bright butterfly flitting from one event to another. She loved getting the newspapers and internet to talk about her fetes and charity work. The only time she was happy was when she was on the evening news or on the front page of a newspaper. That was his job, not hers. Still, Clarissa had used her abilities to spring him into national news, too.
“I wonder,” Barbara said with a smile, “if Charley Davidson knows who she is?”
Shrugging, Clarissa said, “I don’t know. I do know he sent her here tonight, so I suspect he knows something of her background.”
Nodding, Barbara said, “She’s very pretty. And Kam is her cousin? She’s monied, no doubt.”
Peyton wanted to puke. He kept the forced smile on his face. Knowing that monied individuals always decided where an individual was by their bottom line, he began to wonder himself if Casey Cantrell was rich. If she was, why the hell was she eking out a living as a forest ranger? They didn’t get paid very much at all. Cursing again to himself, Carson knew he was in a pickle with Casey Cantrell. If she was found murdered, all hell would break loose because her family had the money to hire anyone they wanted to find the killer. He couldn’t have that. No, some kind of “accident” would have to be devised, instead. They had been right to plan for that. Peyton felt even better now about such a plan. If Casey Cantrell was killed by a grizzly bear, no one would suspect foul play. People got killed by bears every year. It wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.
“Oh,” Clarissa gushed, “Alyssa Trayhern-Cantrell is the queen of charities! I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her, Barbara.” Clarissa knew that the woman, who looked like a shrew with a pinched face and small, close-set eyes, was still a backwoods hick from Cheyenne, Wyoming. It was her brain that enamored Joseph, not her looks, body or upbringing. Barbara was trash from the wrong side of the tracks. Clarissa knew the woman, who put on all kinds of airs because her husband was worth a billion dollars, had no idea of how to conduct herself in high society.
“Oh,” Barbara parried, “I’m sure I’ve heard the name. I don’t travel much and I hate San Francisco. Way too liberal a place for me.” She wrinkled her sharp, thin nose, and that made her eyes look even beadier.
Clarissa smiled faintly, nodded and said nothing. The Shrew, as she referred to the five-foot-tall, skinny woman, really didn’t know Alyssa at all. Many in Wyoming were conservative by nature and, although Clarissa came from this state, she was far more moderate in her outlook than Barbara. She loved San Francisco, liberal city or not. It was one of the finest examples of glittering high society melding with the arts. It wasn’t something she wanted to share with Barbara. One didn’t argue with a donor. Not ever.
“Dear,” Carson said warmly, “I need to make a cell phone call.” He excused himself and quickly exited the rotunda. Moving up the stairs, to where he knew the private level of the museum was located, he pulled out a throwaway cell phone and called Benson. He would leave a message for him, then destroy the cell and throw it into the Snake River, never to be found. This would ensure that he could not be traced or tracked.
CASEY WAS GLAD TO LEAVE the fete after two hours. She’d seen all the players. And Matt had never arrived, much to her regret. No wonder her boss hadn’t wanted to come. Without a Ph.D in small talk, a person would go down in flames in a heartbeat. Her head was aching when she left the museum. Above, the stars were bright in a wide canopy across the dark sky.
“Casey?”
Jerking to a halt, she turned toward the male voice. Matt Sinclaire stood there in his red fire-department jacket, hands in the pockets. His eyes were filled with concern.
“Matt!”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “The chief told me you were ordered to this fete. I thought I’d try and meet you afterward.” His voice lowered. “Are you all right?”
Her skin prickled pleasantly as his gaze moved from her eyes to linger on her parted lips. In the overhead lights just outside the doors to the museum, his face took on a deeply rugged appearance. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Walking up to her, Matt said, “Let me escort you to your car. Someone’s shot at you, they’re loose out there and you should have some kind of protection.”
His hand cupping her elbow sent warmth through her. “How long have you been waiting out here?”
“Oh, maybe half an hour,” he murmured, checking his stride for hers. The parking lot was filled with high-end SUVs—Mercedes and BMWs; vehicles belonging to the cream of Jackson Hole. “How’d it go in there?”
Casey was grateful for his presence. Protection poured from him to her like a warm, embracing blanket. She told him about the fete. By the time she reached her car, she added, “Senator Peyton appeared and then disappeared. Funny thing, Matt,” she said, turning to him after opening the car door, “I saw him look over at me with the strangest expression on his face.”
“What do you mean?” Matt peered down into her darkened eyes. Starlight became Casey. Her shoulder-length brown hair was slightly curled and framed her oval face beautifully. She was not model-pretty but that didn’t matter to him. The gleam of life in her gray eyes, the softness of her mouth, all conspired to make him ache. The memory of what it was like to ache for a woman had been foreign to him until she’d stepped into his life.
Shrugging, Casey threw her purse into the passenger-side seat and said, “It was the oddest look. As though he was seeing a ghost or something. Really bizarre, if you ask me. I mean, I don’t know the man, never seen him before, but he was looking at me like he knew me, Matt. Truly weird.”
“Your mother works in those circles. Has he met her? Do you and Alyssa look a lot alike, maybe?” The wind was picking up, co
ol and chilling.
“I don’t know,” Casey murmured, pulling her coat tighter around her. Looking up into his face, his eyes gleaming with intelligence and care, how badly Casey wanted to lean up on tiptoe and kiss this heroic man’s mouth. She found herself shocked at that desire. There was nothing not to like about Matt, but her past was still melded to her present. “Next time I talk with my mother, I’ll ask her. I look more like my father than I do my mother. Emma, the oldest, has red hair like my mom.” She touched her brown tresses. “I have my dad’s hair.” She smiled warmly, thinking how much Matt was like her dad—the strong, silent type.
Matt looked around the parking lot, at the snow pushed to the sides of the area, the asphalt gleaming beneath the sulfur lights, noting that there were few people outside the museum right now before returning his attention to Casey to share today’s earlier events at the sheriff’s department with her. When he finished, her eyes had widened considerably.
“Charley felt the shot was aimed at me,” Casey said. “He discussed it with me earlier today.”
Holding up his hand, Matt said, “Don’t go there just yet. There’s a lot of conjecture here, Casey. Charley sent out a team today to search for the shooter’s spot. You might ask him tomorrow morning if they found anything.”
Casey muttered, “I will.” She frowned. “I just do not want to tell my parents about this, Matt. They’ve already gone through hell with me once over the Red Lake incident. I don’t want them worrying about me again.” She sighed. “I just can’t believe there is an assassin hired by someone out there gunning for me. I’m a nobody.” She lifted her gloved hands upward. “No one!”
“You’re too nice a person to have any enemies,” Matt agreed, trying to soothe her. He saw the worry banked in Casey’s eyes, the darkness and fear. She was remembering her beating in the past. Without thinking, he slid his hand against her cheek and jaw. Leaning forward, their mouths only inches apart, he whispered, “You have friends here, Casey. I’m one of them. I’ll make sure you’re protected.” How badly Matt ached to kiss her. Watching her pupils grow huge and black, Matt nearly dipped his head to capture her mouth. She was so close…so close…
“I’ve got to go,” Casey whispered raggedly. She pulled away, afraid of herself more than him. Matt was so masculine, confident and virile. All the things she’d ever dreamed of in a man were standing right in front of her, Matt’s hand cupping her jaw as he looked deeply into her eyes. Easing away, Casey climbed into the car. Her hand shook as she slid the key into the ignition. Giving Matt a quick glance, she saw he was neither disappointed nor angry. The hunger burning in his eyes made her sorry she hadn’t kissed him after all.
Matt nodded. “See you tomorrow,” he said and gently shut the door to the USFS pickup. Standing back, he watched the truck pull out. Casey lifted her hand in farewell and slowly drove by him. Matt sauntered down the hill toward the lower parking lot. He knew Senator Peyton was inside the museum pressing the flesh. The man hated him to this day. There was no way Matt had been going to go to the fete. The old saying that you let sleeping dogs lie was, in this case, wise advice. Although the chief had offered him the invitation to the fete, Matt knew he was not expected to show up because of his sordid past with Peyton. He had come because he knew Casey was attending. Seeing her had made his night.
The cold, brisk breeze made Matt feel alive. Because he’d nearly kissed Casey? Her mouth was so soft. He hungered to feel it beneath his. Would she be burning with passion? Or soft, like a pink dusk dissolving out of the darkness of the night? Or…? His mouth pulled into a sad smile. As he neared his vehicle, Matt felt his life was turning toward chaos once more. Casey had entered his and Megan’s life like an unexpected rainbow of promise and hope. She had infused them with joy in a way Matt had never thought possible.
Opening the door, he slid into his truck. His heart felt warm and mushy in his chest. Shaking his head, Matt sat there after closing the door. Why hadn’t he leaned those few inches and kissed Casey? He’d seen the approval in her eyes. But something fleeting had stopped him. What else had he seen in her eyes? Fear? Matt tried to put himself into her place. She’d been nearly beaten to death by five men. Her trust with men was broken. Matt knew his would be, too, under those very circumstances.
Gripping the steering wheel, he tried to ferret deeper into Casey’s expression as she drowned in his gaze. Her lips had parted, she was ready to be kissed by him. Why had he hesitated? Was he afraid to try and love again?
“What the hell?” Matt rasped tightly, looking out the window of the pickup at the shadows and parked cars. Was it really him? No woman had interested him since his wife’s death. Not one. Until now. Two years had passed. Was that when grief stopped and life began again? Matt had no idea. What he couldn’t afford to do was put his selfish needs in front of Megan’s.
No…he had to restrain himself for his daughter’s sake. Megan adored Casey. Better to be friends right now, because Matt didn’t want to take the chance of damaging Megan’s connection with Casey in any way. Shaking his head, Matt slipped the key into the ignition. As he drove out of the lot, the lights stabbing into the darkness down the long, winding road, Matt felt torn. He was protective by nature, and Casey had been shot at. He didn’t care what the sheriff or Charley thought. Someone was after her and he could taste it. And he was damned if Casey was going to die. There was just no way…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CASEY MARVELED AT THE changes in the Tetons on June first. Just as her supervisor, Charley, had said, the world shifted and changed. Working at the visitor’s center, she saw a tremendous increase in tourists. She had gone from being bored out of her mind three of the five days a week she was at the desk, to being engaged with enthusiastic people from around the world. The other two days were spent in wildlife biology and she always looked forward to the change of pace.
The sun was slanting through the floor-to-ceiling glass in the west side of the visitor’s center as Casey got ready to quit her shift for the day. As she turned, she saw Matt and Megan enter. Smiling, she waved at them. In the last two months they’d tried to get together once a week, but that didn’t always work with their crazy schedules. Her heart pulsed warmly as she saw Matt’s normally serious expression break into a warm smile meant only for her.
Megan waved enthusiastically and smiled her toothy smile.
Casey said goodbye to her other three ranger friends and slipped out from behind the counter. Megan tore out of Matt’s grasp and ran across the shining waxed floor, her arms open wide, her hair flying behind her. Laughing, Casey knelt down and opened her arms. The eight-year-old flew into her embrace, hugging her hard and laughing.
Megan nestled her head against the crook of Casey’s shoulder. She kissed the girl’s hair. “And how was your day, Megan?” Casey asked.
Making unintelligible sounds, Megan simply clung to Casey. She was highly affectionate every time Casey saw her. It was as if Megan was sure she would disappear. Casey understood the girl’s reaction. Megan had lost her mother and she didn’t want to lose another woman with whom she was bonding.
“Hi,” Matt greeted. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We thought we’d catch you at quitting time and take you home with us. Megan loves spaghetti and she’s been helping me make the sauce for it today. I asked her if she’d like to have you over for dinner and her head’s been bobbing ever since.” Matt looked inquiringly down at Casey. Megan was so happy in her embrace. Guilt conflicted with desire within him. He couldn’t shake the past, his love for Bev and how she had filled his life with joy. Yet his heart pined to be with Casey. It was terrible to be emotionally strung between, Matt decided. The past anchored him and another part of himself wanted to be free of it in order to begin to live again.
Casey lifted Megan into her arms. The girl squealed with delight, her small arms tight around her neck. “Hey, this is a nice surprise.” Casey asked, “Did you cut up the onions?”
Nodding eagerly, M
egan twisted around and looked at her father. She babbled on in sounds, not words. Matt grinned and tousled his daughter’s hair.
“I think that is, yes, I helped cut up the onions and yes, I cried as I did it.” He met Casey’s warm gray gaze. “She had a box of tissues next to the cutting board. Half the time she was fighting the onion with the paring knife. The other half she was wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. And then, she’d be washing her hands in between.”
Chuckling, Casey gently placed Megan’s tennis-shoed feet on the floor and straightened. Megan’s hand found hers and Casey squeezed it gently to reassure the child. “Hey, that’s how I cut up onions, too! A paring knife in one hand and a tissue in the other.” She grinned down at Megan. “Isn’t that how everyone does it, Megan?”
Nodding, Megan laughed and jumped up and down like a fractious colt who wanted to run.
Matt felt whole in that moment. The three of them stood close to one another trading something so simple and yet so profound as cutting an onion. He recalled similar conversations with Bev as they absorbed Megan’s discoveries about life. Each one was precious. And each was a new step into his daughter’s awareness of who she was as a person. Matt never wanted to miss any of those moments, but he knew he did. Though he was grateful that his sister could babysit Megan, he more than once wished that he was married so that Megan’s stepmother could be there to see these moments. Sadness swept through him because Matt knew that was not to be. Forcing himself to stop thinking along those lines, he walked with Megan and Casey to the door.
“We make a pretty mean spaghetti,” he told Casey. “I learned to make this at the firehouse.”
“Oh, no,” Casey teased, walking through the opened door Matt held open for them. She glanced down at Megan. “And you survived this spaghetti?”
Laughing, Megan nodded. She skipped happily between them. There were less tourists at 5:00 p.m. Everyone was going to dinner. The June sky was a light blue with some puffy white clouds. The snow had mostly melted from the slopes of the Tetons, except at the tops of their sharp granite peaks.
Deadly Silence Page 12