Wyoming Bold (9781460320891)

by Palmer, Diana

  Carson pulled out his cell phone and opened an internet browser.

  “What?” Tank asked.

  “It’s a long shot,” he said. “But I’m curious about that tune. It rings a bell somewhere in the back of my mind.”

  He tapped in a search string and waited. Then he thumbed through the results, which seemed to go on forever. Finally he paused, tapped the screen and his face grew even more grim.

  “Several months ago,” he said, looking up, “about the time Hayes Carson made his bust and you got ambushed, a district attorney was murdered in San Antonio.”

  “And?” Tank asked.

  “They think it was a theft because of what was stolen. His wife was wealthy. He was wearing a very expensive Swiss watch. They said it had a musical alarm, but not what the tune was. It was never found.”

  Tank’s dark eyes twinkled. “A break. Maybe.”

  Carson nodded. He was still pulling up websites. He frowned. “There’s a photograph of the prosecutor who was killed. I want you to look at this.” He handed his iPhone to Tank, who took it and his face paled.

  “What?” Rourke asked when he saw Tank’s expression.

  “The damned shirt. The damned paisley shirt.” He drew in a long breath. “That looks like the shirt the so-called federal agent was wearing.”

  “Can you find out if the shirt went missing?” Rourke asked Carson.

  “Let me find out for you. I know a homicide detective with San Antonio P.D.,” Rourke said. He pulled out his own phone and put in a call to Lieutenant of Detectives Rick Marquez.

  * * *

  “ROURKE,” RICK MARQUEZ stated when he heard the South African accent.

  “That’s me. How are things?”

  “Busy,” Rick replied, chuckling. “My wife and I are expecting any day now.”

  “Congrats,” Rourke replied.

  “Thanks. We’re pretty excited. Big changes coming.”

  “You’re telling me. Listen, I’m working for a bloke up here in Wyoming. Tank, excuse me, Dalton Kirk...”

  “Hayes Carson told me about that,” Rick interrupted. “Any luck catching the culprit?”

  “That’s where we’re hoping you could give us a hand, unofficially,” Rourke replied. “A San Antonio district attorney was murdered some months ago, and some things were stolen from him, yes?”

  “Yes,” Rick said. “He was a good guy. Hardworking and honest and relentless. He left behind a wife and two small children. Damned bad luck. He was walking through the car park after hours when somebody jumped him, shot him to death and robbed him.”

  “You’ve never caught the perp, yes?”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “I understand that a watch was one of the stolen items...specifically an expensive Swiss watch.”

  “I don’t remember exactly, but I think so.”

  Tank asked for the phone and held it to his ear. “Dalton Kirk here. Lieutenant Marquez. Was your murder victim also wearing a paisley shirt at the time, and was it missing?”

  “Let me think. Oh, I remember now. It was one of the more puzzling aspects of the crime. Of course, criminals come in all colors and mental persuasions. The man’s shirt was removed by whoever killed him. Left his suit coat, which was very expensive, lying on the ground. His wallet was taken, the watch and the shirt.”

  “Was he shot in the chest?”

  “No. In the head. There was some blood, not a lot, on his suit coat. Although there was quite a bit on the pillar behind him...”

  “The shirt, was it identified by anyone?”

  “His wife said it was a couture paisley shirt she had a famous Paris design house create for him... What is it?” Rick asked when Tank drew in his breath.

  “The man who shot me was wearing a shirt like that. Sheriff Hayes Carson remembers the agent who was with him at his drug bust also wearing one. I don’t know if he saw the man’s watch, but you might ask him.”

  “This is going in a strange direction,” Rick said.

  “Tell me about it! It looks like we may have your prosecutor’s murderer up here in Wyoming trying to kill me,” Tank said. “I didn’t know why. But I think it might have something to do with your unsolved murder down there in Texas.”

  “I think you may be right. Tell me everything you remember about the man,” Rick said. “We have one witness who saw the killer running away. He passed right by the window of her bake shop. We pulled in all the usual suspects and did a lineup but she couldn’t identify anybody. In fact, the description she gave us was, frankly, right up there with the ones we get from people on hallucinogenic drugs.”

  “How so?” Tank asked.

  “She said he had flaming orange hair and that he was carrying a blow-up children’s swimming pool toy.”

  “To draw attention away from his face,” Tank said, remembering something he’d heard Carson say. “Or to make the witness sound foolish when giving a description of him. Probably he grabbed a child’s toy from someone’s yard when he fled the scene.”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  “Tell him about the man who stabbed Carlie Blair’s father. That perp was poisoned,” Carson prompted.

  “Yes.” He told Marquez about that, but Marquez already knew. He just hadn’t connected the two cases. There might not be a connection, he added, but he’d check it out anyway.

  “It might be nothing, but I have a feeling there are some connections here. I’ll get people looking into it. Give me back to Rourke. Nice to meet you, by the way.” Marquez chuckled.

  “Same here.” He handed the phone back to Rourke.

  Rourke listened for a minute. “Yes. That’s right. He tried to poison a young woman, a friend of Dalton’s, and he’s repeatedly put her in the line of fire. He’s bugged the Kirk home and her home. We thought he was a nutter, but now I’m beginning to realize that he has a lot more at stake than we realized. Apparently he was afraid Dalton might remember what he just has, to connect him with that murder. Same for Hayes Carson. It also explains why he wanted the computer wiped at Hayes’s office. He didn’t want anybody to see that shirt he had on, possibly the watch as well, and make a connection.”

  “Which leads us to still another question, if he’s some random killer, why is he so concerned that he might be linked with a particular murder?” Rick asked.

  “He made it seem like a robbery, didn’t he?” Rourke said thoughtfully. “Maybe he didn’t want it connected with a case your prosecutor might have been working on.”

  “Damn! Good detective work there, Rourke,” Marquez said. “Why don’t you give up feeding people to crocodiles and come to work for me? You can have free coffee and your own parking spot.”

  “Sorry,” Rourke replied. “Feeding crocs is a bit more lucrative at the moment. Here’s my cell number. I’ll be with the Kirks, so if you need to reach Dalton, this is the best way. Their phones might not be safe. We’ll have to recheck everything.”

  “Good idea.”

  Rourke gave him the number then they exchanged a few more words and hung up.

  * * *

  “WELL!” TANK SAID HEAVILY. “All this, over a murder in Texas!”

  “It would seem to connect,” Rourke replied. He shook his head. “But it doesn’t make a lot of sense. He’s gone to an incredible amount of trouble to cover his tracks, but since then, he’s made himself a target with attempted murder here.”

  “He might be in on the hit they planned for Hayes Carson,” Tank said solemnly.

  “I wouldn’t have agreed even two days ago,” Carson interrupted. “But I believe you’re on to something.”

  “I know he is,” Clara, who had been sitting quietly, listening, said. “That was what Merissa saw. She said that you were being targeted because of something you didn’t even remembe
r. It makes sense now.”

  “It certainly does.” Tank glanced at the other men. “We have to be more careful than ever. We can’t assume that he hasn’t placed more devices around the ranch. We have people coming in all the time, from USDA inspectors, to cowboys, to suppliers, even men who drive the cattle trucks and are sometimes temporary hires. It’s a big ranch. Takes a lot of people to keep it operating. We do run background checks on the people who come most often, but we don’t extend it to temporaries who work a day or two.”

  “I can run a check on everyone who comes through the gate with facial recognition software,” Carson said quietly. “It will take time, but anyone who isn’t a regular will stick out like a red flag.”

  “Good idea. I’ll make sure everyone knows to keep conversation general and away from anything concerning the intruder,” Tank told them. He looked at Clara. “That goes double for you, and for Merissa, when she gets home.”

  Clara nodded. “We’ll be very careful this time.”

  “I’ll get you a scrambler,” Carson said with a smile. “It’s not an obvious block, like jamming. It will just give you a little privacy by confusing the transmitters for anyone eavesdropping.”

  “Thanks,” Clara said softly.

  The waitress delivered trays of food, mostly turkey and dressing plates in honor of Christmas, and they fell silent while they ate.

  * * *

  AFTER FINISHING AT the diner, and saying goodbye to the two men, Tank took Clara with him to the hospital.

  Rourke climbed into the car with Carson. He gave the other man an odd look.

  “What?” Carson asked.

  He shrugged. “Just curious about something.”

  The other man raised an eyebrow before he turned his attention back to the road.

  “You’ve changed,” Rourke remarked.

  “Explain.”

  “All the time I’ve known you, there was nothing you hated more than women. Now, suddenly, you’re Don Juan.”

  Carson looked out the windshield intently. “Variety is the spice of life.”

  “That wasn’t you, even a year ago.”

  Carson laughed coldly. “It was. I have moods. Sometimes I think about things, and women go right down on the scale like a rock falling. I was Mr. Conservative for a while. Then I had a...personal tragedy,” he said, glossing over the tragic death of his wife. “Afterward, I saw women in a different way. Well, most of the time. Hell, they want to play around like men, notch the bedpost at night, laugh at commitment—why shouldn’t I avail myself of the opportunities that present themselves?” he mused. “I’m no monk.”

  “Neither am I,” Rourke replied. He smiled. “But I’m not in your league.” He shook his head. “Damn, you’ve got skills.”

  Carson chuckled. “I gather pretty bouquets. Some have long stems, some have short ones. But the more beautiful they are, the more I enjoy them. For a while.”

  “Women who aren’t beautiful can have other traits just as worthy,” Rourke pointed out.

  “Not my thing. I don’t like plain women with ancient attitudes.”

  Rourke glanced at him. That had been said with pure venom. “Known a few of those, have we?”

  “One.” Carson thought back to Carlie and what he’d said to her. He closed his mind. “Life’s too short not to appreciate beauty when it drapes itself over your arm and purrs like a kitten.”

  Rourke smiled. “Yeah. I guess you have a point.” He looked out the window. His face was hard as nails. “Variety is less abrasive than trying to cope with just one woman.”

  “I totally agree,” Carson said.

  Rourke glanced at him. “You’re putting Dalton’s back up. Did you notice?”

  Carson pursed his lips. “Jealousy,” he said with a flash of white teeth. “And he should be jealous. If I were a little less scrupulous, I’d take her right out from under him. She’s...special.”

  “Very special.” Rourke hesitated. “Do you know about Tank?”

  Carson glanced at him. “He’s a rich rancher.”

  “He served in Iraq with a forward unit,” Rourke said. “He waded in when a tank pinned down his unit, and blew it up. That’s where he got the name.”

  “Impressive.”

  “He came home with hardly a scratch. He was at a loose end. His brothers were parlaying the ranch into an empire, but Dalton wanted more excitement. He liked the idea of a federal job, with those nice benefits. One of the officers he knew pulled a few strings and got him a job as a border patrol agent.” His expression became somber. “One day, a DEA agent came into his office and asked for immediate assistance with a drug bust going down. Dalton had no reason not to believe the man. He went with him, walked into an ambush and was almost shot to pieces in the attack that ensued. He was in the hospital for weeks, undergoing surgery after surgery.”

  “Good God!” Carson said heavily.

  “He’s walking again, and he doesn’t have any obvious marks on him. But I can tell you that it left scars he’ll never lose, physical as well as mental. He had to leave the job, obviously. Mallory and Cane had bought this ranch several years earlier and the two of them had sweated blood to grow it while Tank was in Iraq, and later, working for the feds. They’ve made some amazing improvements here, turned the place into a totally green operation. It’s skyrocketed in worth since they took it over.” He shook his head. “Mallory’s got a real knack for investments. Tank does the marketing and Cane shows the cattle. They’re amazingly successful.”

  Carson was quiet. He was thinking about Dalton’s injuries and especially about the ones that wouldn’t show. That would make it hard for him, with a woman.

  “He never spoke of how bad it was,” Carson said.

  “That’s like him. He doesn’t advertise his problems.”

  Carson was reminded of Carlie’s shoulder, where he’d seen the odd fit of the fabric. He wondered if she, too, had scars that didn’t show.

  Rourke drew in a long breath. “God, I’m tired. I just hope Marquez can come up with some answers that will help us solve this case before anyone else is hurt or dies.”

  Carson’s lips made a thin line. “That makes two of us.”

  * * *

  TANK HAD STOPPED by the gift shop at the hospital while Clara went in to see her daughter. Merissa was just out of intensive care, into a room. Tank made his purchases and then made his way up to the floor where her room was.

  He held his hand behind him as he entered after a light tap.

  “Come in,” Merissa said in a weak, but happy tone. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. She smiled.

  “Hi, kid,” he greeted softly. “How’s it going?”

  Kid? Then she remembered. He’d said, “What are friends for?”

  Her face fell.

  He saw that, and his heart sank. He moved closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

  “Better, thanks,” she said huskily. “Sick. Tired. Scared,” she added, glancing at Clara.

  Clara pressed her hand. “I’m fine. I have plenty of protection.”

  “Okay,” Merissa said, relaxing a little. She looked past her mother at Tank. “Something’s come up. Hasn’t it?”

  He raised both eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” she said shyly. “Can’t help it.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing. But yes, something has come up. I just can’t tell you about it.” He was probably being paranoid, but he didn’t even trust the hospital room not to be bugged. He must be spending too much time alone, he figured.

  “Okay,” she said. She was quick. He didn’t want to talk in here. Maybe he thought the room was bugged. It wasn’t beyond imagination. After all, that man had managed to get into her bedroom at the cabin and tamper with her headache pills.

  “Bro
ught you something,” he said.

  “You did?” Her face brightened when she smiled. “Is it something nice to eat? Something besides gelatin and soup? Maybe?”

  “It’s a T-bone steak in a plain wrapper,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

  “Wicked!” She laughed.

  Her face lit up when she was happy. She was beautiful. He had to shake himself to stop from blurting it out.

  He drew his hand from behind his back. “It’s probably corny...”

  She took the small ceramic sculpture from his hands. It was a hawk. No. It was two hawks, one male, one female, sitting together on a limb. The piece was carved from wood and hand-painted. It was beautiful.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I’ll treasure it forever,” she choked out. She looked up at him. “Thanks!”

  He smiled. He’d been uncertain, but that smile made his whole day. “I’m glad you like it. Merry Christmas.”

  “I didn’t get you anything,” she said miserably.

  “Oh, that’s not a Christmas present,” he replied. “Just an impulse thing.”

  “Okay, then, I feel better. Thank you again. Did they say when I could go home?” she asked Clara.

  Clara sighed. “Nobody tells me much. But I can go ask, if you like.”

  “Would you?”

  Clara smiled. “Of course. Be right back.”

  She left the room and Tank dropped into the chair beside Merissa’s bed. He took her small hand in his and held it tightly.

  When she met his searching gaze, everything since their last meeting went right out of her head, and she thought her heart would beat her to death.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TANK LOOKED INTO her eyes with aching longing. He wanted to tell her how jealous he was of Carson, how he wished he could take back the things he’d said, that he didn’t want her for a friend. He wanted her for the rest of his life.

  But how could he do that, now that he’d ruined everything?