Wyoming Bold (9781460320891)

by Palmer, Diana

  She laughed. “Okay!”

  One thing he was certain of as he walked out the door. That woman was his. And she knew it.

  * * *

  HE PHONED ROURKE as soon as he finished telling the family about how things stood at the cabin now that Merissa was back home.

  “I was going to call Marquez myself, but we’ve had a lot going on, with Merissa being released from the hospital. I did tell Hayes Carson, but Marquez should be briefed on everything, too. Since you know him,” he asked, “do you think you could give him a call for me?”

  Rourke chuckled. “I’ll call him right now,” he added.

  “Let’s hope there’s some good news.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  * * *

  ROURKE CALLED BACK a few hours later, from near the Baker house. The cowboy who’d been watching Clara had returned to the ranch. Rourke had released him, and he was anxious to get back to his regular chores, despite Clara’s wonderful cooking. Carson was working around the Kirk ranch, keeping an eye on the family.

  “Sorry it took so long. Marquez was in court,” Rourke said.

  “I figured he wasn’t available or I’d have heard from you sooner. Are Clara and Merissa okay?”

  “They’re fine. They were having lunch just before I left to check the surveillance units Carson put up. If I get back in time, I’ll get homemade chicken salad.” He laughed. “Okay, here’s what Marquez was able to find out...”

  “Is that line secure?”

  “Is it ever,” Rourke said grimly. “I’m halfway up a tree talking on a throwaway phone. Yours is a prepaid. No way he’s got access to these. And just in case he does, I’m running a scrambler on the line.”

  “Devious.”

  “I work in covert ops,” Rourke reminded him. “This is what Marquez told me. That watch was made by a Swiss manufacturer. It’s a custom one-of-a-kind watch. It was a birthday present to the assistant D.A. from his very wealthy wife.”

  “So the guy couldn’t fence it,” Tank guessed.

  “Very good. It could have been disassembled, jewels removed, gold melted down, but the watch was unique. My guess, and Marquez’s, is that the killer liked the prestige of wearing a watch that was worth more than the price of a new custom Jaguar XK. Same thing for the shirt, which was couture, hand-painted and cost a mint. So he likes the shirt and the watch and starts wearing them. It’s stupid, but brilliant people do stupid things. He wears them to Hayes Carson’s drug bust and is photographed wearing them. Later, he wears them to your ambush and you saw him wearing them. Somebody, probably his employer, goes nuts when he realizes his man has been advertising a killing that could put them both in the slammer for life and there’s a photograph to prove it. So the repentant employee goes after Hayes, tries to have him killed, but hires the wrong man and the gunman misses. Thus the kidnapping, which would certainly have led to Hayes’s murder except for some great escape work by Hayes’s fiancée, whom he just married.”

  “The photograph would have been on the computer that was in Hayes’s office that was erased by a cohort of the would-be killer,” Tank finished for him.

  “Most likely the woman accomplice was the one who worked for the so-called surveillance tech who bugged the houses up here,” Rourke guessed. “Then when they realized the photograph could be recovered, they took the computer and killed the techie who was trying to do the recovery.”

  “Sloppy, messy job all around,” Tank muttered.

  “Isn’t it, though?” Rourke mused. “To continue, then he realizes that you got a great look at him and you’re another loose end he can’t afford to ignore. Our guy is a pro. He’s great at disguises, knows his poisons...knows his way around the underworld. But I’ve worked with some guys like that who were skilled at covert ops but lousy at strategy and tactics. Maybe in the past he’s had someone else telling him what to do and how to do it, and he was great at it. Now, maybe he’s on his own and finding that he’s not covering all his bases like he used to. Or maybe he has a drug habit and it’s getting out of control, so he’s sloppy all of a sudden.”

  “He didn’t try to hit the two federal agents or Cash Grier’s secretary,” Tank pointed out.

  “They may have been further down the list. Take out the biggest risk first—Hayes Carson and his computer. Then you, because you could actually connect him with Charro Mendez and lead you back to his boss if you talked to the right people.”

  “Lot of maybes there,” Tank pointed out.

  “True.”

  “What else did Marquez tell you?”

  “They’ve tentatively traced our would-be assassin to a sleazy politician with purported ties to a drug cartel. He’s a state senator. But he’s running for a high political office. The elderly senior U.S. senator from Texas has died suddenly of what they assumed were natural causes. That’s being reinvestigated as we speak. There’s also a serious rival for the unexpired term who just landed himself in the hospital with an undiagnosed illness.”

  “Did they look for poison in his bloodstream?” Tank drawled.

  “They hadn’t, but thanks to Marquez, they’re going to.”

  “You think there’s a tie to this politician?” Tank asked.

  “Now, there’s the really interesting thing. Among the cases the prosecutor was investigating was one involving this sleazy politician. Bribery, misuse of funds, drug distribution connections, that sort of thing.”

  “Did he have evidence?”

  “I think he might have. But the data in his computer was destroyed. And I mean destroyed. The hard drive was shattered. All the paperwork on the case disappeared. Seems the prosecutor had hired a temp to sub for his sick secretary just before he was killed and all the records went missing.”

  “There would have been police reports, investigator’s notes,” Tank began.

  “I’m coming to that. All vanished. It’s just the word of the police officers and detectives. Know what that’s worth in court without a paper trail?”

  “Damn!”

  “Marquez’s language was much more colorful,” he said. “Anyway, there’s nothing that can connect the politician to any of this. Except...”

  “Except?”

  “It seems he has an enforcer with expensive tastes. The enforcer, a man named Richard Martin, was seen wearing a paisley shirt just like the one the prosecutor’s wife gave him.”

  “Don’t tell me—he was also wearing a watch that plays Joan Jett.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Now what’s the bad news?”

  “Same as before. No paper trail. Nobody who saw him could identify him except maybe you and Hayes Carson and the feds. He’d have to be nuts to go after the feds, by the way. Or maybe he thought about importing some overseas talent for those. Oh, and Cash Grier’s cute little secretary with the photographic memory—she saw him. They’re still trying to tie in her father’s attempted murder with the poisoned would-be assassin.”

  “Somebody had better be watching her back, just in case,” Tank said grimly.

  “I know things about her father that I can’t tell you,” Rourke said.

  “The minister?” Tank asked.

  “He wasn’t always a minister. Leave it at that. Besides, she works for Cash Grier. I know career criminals who’d think three times before they even considered tangling with him. He may be a small-town police chief now, but those old skills aren’t rusty. He also has a network of, shall we say, off-the-radar friends and associates. Some of them are reputedly wanted by a number of world governments.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Rourke’s voice became serious. “Marquez said that the sleazy politician’s enforcer has a reputation for extreme violence, especially in tight corners. We can’t let our guards down for a moment.”

&
nbsp; “Clara and Merissa have to come over to the house and stay with us,” Tank said firmly.

  “I told them that. Merissa was willing at first. Now, she’s not. She thinks they’ll be all right at the cabin. Clara says if Merissa wants to stay, so will she.”

  “Don’t even let them argue with you about it. Pick them up and carry them out to the car if you have to.”

  “It’s a truck, but I take your meaning.”

  “Get Merissa’s computer and any sentimental items you can carry, as well. Just in case he has any ideas about making a bad situation worse.”

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “I always do. Take your own advice. Talk to you later.” He cut the connection.

  * * *

  TANK TOOK HIS brothers into the kitchen, turned on the mixer in spite of Mavie’s exasperation, shooed her out of the room and told them what had happened.

  “Things are getting very dangerous,” Cane remarked.

  “Yes, they are,” Mallory agreed. “Carson set up his system to do facial recognition, and we pinpointed a man today with a criminal record who ran when we tried to question him.”

  Tank felt the danger. “I wouldn’t have put you two in the middle of this, or the wives, or your son,” he told Mallory, “for anything.”

  “It’s worth the danger if we can keep you alive,” Cane said tightly.

  “It’s Merissa I’m most worried about,” Tank confessed.

  “She’s safe for now, though,” Mallory told him. “Rourke won’t let anything happen to her or her mother.”

  “That’s not all.” Tank shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “Something’s got me worried.”

  “What?”

  “The trail he left in the snow, the one that led to the highway.”

  “Old hunter’s trick is to double back on a trail,” Mallory mentioned.

  “If he was laying a false trail deliberately, he’d make sure we saw it. So where do you think he’s been hiding?”

  Mallory’s face was hard as rock. “In the cabin itself.”

  Tank felt his breath catch in his throat. “Merissa and Clara!” he exclaimed, fear in his expression.

  * * *

  HE OPENED HIS cell phone and called Rourke. The phone rang and rang. But Rourke didn’t answer.

  “Something’s wrong,” Tank said. “I’m going over there.”

  “So are we,” Cane and Mallory said together.

  “No,” Tank replied emphatically. “You stay here. I’ll call all the cowboys to stand around the house with loaded weapons. Carson’s going with me.”

  “Be careful,” Mallory said tautly.

  “You’re the only little brother we’ve got,” Cane added and tried to smile.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Tank started out the door. He had Darby Hanes on the line before he reached it, slinging out orders as he headed to his truck.

  “Carson!” he called to the dark-haired man on the porch.

  Carson looked up from his laptop.

  “Let’s go. Right now!”

  Carson put the laptop down and ran to the truck. “What is it?”

  “You can eavesdrop.” He phoned Cody Banks. “I’ve lost communication with my man who’s guarding Merissa and Clara. How soon can you get there with a couple of deputies?”

  “I’ll meet you at the front porch,” Cody said, and hung up.

  “We think he laid a deliberate trail away from where he was,” Tank said through his teeth. “He’s in the damned cabin! Probably in the attic. We never even checked it!”

  Carson groaned. “What a damned lack of foresight!”

  “I just pray we’re in time,” Tank said, and stood down on the accelerator.

  * * *

  WHEN THEY GOT to the cabin, the sheriff’s car, a state police car, an ambulance and a fire truck were sitting on the road that led to it, sirens and lights just dying down.

  “What happened?” Tank asked, trying to fight down terror as he joined Cody Banks at his squad car.

  “He’s got the women,” Cody said in a hunted tone. “He won’t negotiate. He says he’s through trying to do it covertly. Now he’s just going to kill them.”

  “They aren’t dead?” Tank asked.

  “Not yet,” Cody replied.

  Tank let out the breath he’d been holding. “Then what do we do?”

  “I don’t have a hostage negotiator,” Cody told them. “The police department in Catelow has one, but he’s back East on a long Christmas holiday with his folks. The state police sent us a man who did it for Houston P.D. a few years back.” He indicated the man, who nodded. “Right now we’re waiting for the utility companies.”

  “Utility companies?” Tank burst out. “What in hell for?”

  “We turn off everything we can turn off,” the state trooper said gently. “Then we negotiate for power, water, electricity...”

  “He’ll kill them before you get that far.” Tank drew in a ragged breath. “It’s me he wants. I’ll trade with them.”

  “You will not,” Cody said firmly. “Then we’ll have three victims instead of two.”

  While they were talking, Carson was stripping off his jacket. He tossed it into the front seat of the ranch pickup.

  “And what would you be doing then?” Cody asked.

  “What I’ve made a living at for the past several years,” Carson said. “Who’s got a sniper kit I can borrow?” he asked grimly.

  The men stared at him.

  He stuck his hands on his hips. “Are we going to stand here and make judgments or let me save the women?” he asked curtly.

  “Sorry,” Cody said. “Wasn’t thinking. Frank,” he called to one of his deputies, “break out that new rifle with the scope.”

  “New. Damned things never shoot right until they’re used,” Carson muttered.

  “It’s what we’ve got,” Cody told him.

  “You’ll never get close enough.” Tank tried to reason with him. He was sick with fear. “He’ll see you coming.”

  Carson lifted an eyebrow. “Remind me to tell you a story or two when this is all over.” He glanced toward the deputy, who was carrying a heavy metal gun box. He sat it on the lowered tailgate of the ranch pickup and opened it.

  “Sweet,” Carson said as he fingered the light wood of the stock.

  “Ya, isn’t it?” the deputy asked with a sigh. “I’ve just used it on targets, but it’s accurate to a hair.”

  “Shoots true?”

  “You bet.”

  Carson took it out of the box with a faint reverence and looked down the scope toward the house. “Nice optics,” he said. He concentrated. He could see movement at one of the windows. It fluttered, and a woman’s frightened face looked out. It was Clara. She was talking to someone behind her, scared and crying.

  Carson’s jaw set. “He sent Clara to look out the window, to see what’s going on out here.” He took the rifle and slung the strap over his shoulder. “I need a diversion,” he told Cody Banks. “I’m not going to tell you where I’ll be. But when you hear a shot, move in quick.”

  “Don’t miss,” Cody said firmly.

  “It would be the first time,” Carson replied solemnly. “But I won’t.”

  He turned and went off toward the end of the driveway.

  “He’s going in the wrong direction,” the deputy muttered.

  “Think so?” Tank asked. He knew Carson. He turned back to Cody. “If those utility trucks showed up right now, it would be a great help.”

  Cody pressed the mike on his radio. “I’ll see if I can hurry them up. Dispatch,” he began, talking into the unit, “I need an ETA on the power company.”

 
“This is dispatch, Sheriff. He’s two minutes away.”

  “Tell him to turn on his yellow lights and come in fast,” Cody said.

  “Sir?”

  “Just do it, okay?”

  There was a smile in the voice that answered. “Okay.”

  Cody turned to his deputy. “There’s a sudden emergency you have to handle. Turn on the lights and sirens full blast and make a big production of turning around in the driveway. Go closer to the house when you do it, but not too close.”

  The deputy nodded. “Yes, sir!”

  He jumped into his car, turned on the lights and sirens and went careening a little way toward the house before he cut the wheel sharply and tore off down the road.

  “There,” Cody said. “Maybe that will give him time to get in place. And here’s another diversion.”

  The power truck pulled up next to the squad car. “I had some really strange directions...” the driver began.

  “No time to talk, I’m afraid,” the sheriff told him with a weary smile. “We have a hostage situation. We need you to cut power to the cabin, as quickly as you can.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” He turned off the engine, got out, pulled on his tool belt and climbed into the cherry picker. He lifted himself up to the connections. A few twists and turns with his tools and the cabin went dark.

  “Nice work,” Cody said when he came down again.

  “Now what?” the man asked.

  “Can you stay with us for a few minutes?”

  “Unless we get an urgent call about something,” the lineman agreed.

  “Thanks.”

  Cody turned to the state trooper. “I’ll try to get him to answer the phone, if it’s still working.” Some phones wouldn’t work without power.

  The trooper nodded.

  Cody dialed Clara’s number and waited. The phone rang once, twice, three times. It rang again. And again. Just when Cody was about to give up, there was a click.

  “Yeah. What do you want?” a man with an Australian accent asked.

  “Your hostages,” Cody said.

  There was a cold laugh. “No way, mate. Messed up all me plans, they did. Now they have to pay for it.”