Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Vernon frowned. “Bill? No, he was never on the force here.”

  “Just a thought,” Denver said, breathing again.

  Vernon opened the door for them. “No, in 1969, Bill Cline was working in security.”

  “Here in Billings?” J.D. asked.

  Vernon shook his head. “Up in the oil fields. He was an armored-car driver for Interstate West, a company that transferred oil money.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’m telling you he’s our bank robber,” Denver argued as they left Vernon’s.

  “Cline?” J.D. started the pickup and headed back into the city. “He’s a lot of things—”

  “He’s an obnoxious redneck, male-chauvinist, know-it-all jerk,” she said, daring him to disagree.

  J.D. laughed. “Yes, he’s all of that and probably a lot more you’re just too polite to name.”

  She grinned at him.

  “But a bank robber and murderer? Let alone the brains behind a million-dollar heist?”

  That stopped her. She’d never thought of Cline as smart, but maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe all that redneck bluster was an act. “Think about it, J.D. Cline called Pete the morning after Davey’s accident on Horse Butte to warn him. And Cline would have known about a large oil-money transfer to the bank.”

  “So would a lot of other people,” J.D. countered. “And Cline likes Pete and he isn’t that wild about me.”

  “Are you going to tell me it isn’t strange that Cline and Cal Dalton ended up in the same town?”

  “Cline’s been the deputy sheriff in West Yellowstone for years,” J.D. said reasonably. “Dalton or Williams or whoever he is has only been in town how long?”

  “A few months,” Denver admitted. “But maybe he went there because of Cline.”

  J.D. pulled up to a light and looked over at her. “Isn’t it more likely that he went there because of the horn?”

  “He could have come for both,” she muttered under her breath.

  “The question now is, what are we going to do?” he asked.

  “About Cal?”

  “About food.” He grinned at her. “I’m starved.”

  She laughed, snuggling against him. “You’re always starved.”

  “Always starved for you,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair smelled clean and fresh and made him want her more than food.

  He drove into an older neighborhood in the south end of town and found an authentic-looking Mexican café. They took a booth by the window and ordered two combination plates and two beers.

  “Sheila Walker thinks she’s traced the money trail to Max,” Denver said after the waitress left. “If that money in his account is from the robbery, then the person who put it there has to be someone involved in the crime.”

  “Or someone who knew where the money was hidden.”

  Denver frowned. “I never thought of that.”

  “Or the money might be from horn hunting,” J.D. said. “It might have been put in his account just to make Max look guilty.”

  The waitress put two frosty mugs of beer down in front of them. The place was empty at this time of day. J.D. felt safe for the first time in days and knew Denny did, too. He didn’t want to talk about murder or robbery or horn poaching. He just wanted to look at Denny sitting across from him. He pressed his leg against hers under the table. She responded in kind with a smile, took a sip of beer and flipped through the robbery stories they’d photocopied.

  J.D. reached across the table to take her hand. With his thumb he traced her life line. Then her love line.

  “What do you see?” she asked, pushing the newspaper stories aside.

  “I see a long, interesting life filled with adventure,” he said, and she laughed. “And lots of children.”

  She raised one eyebrow and grinned at him. “Lots?”

  “At least two.”

  “Two’s a nice number. And is there a man in my life?”

  “Of course.” He frowned. “Well, I hope so.”

  “Is he tall, dark and handsome?” she asked, looking down at her palm.

  “He’ll pass.”

  Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Then maybe I already know him.”

  The waitress came back with a bowl of chips and salsa and J.D. reluctantly let go of Denver’s hand.

  She took another sip of her beer and licked the foam from her lips as she looked out the window. “You understand that I have to find Max’s killer before I can—” She turned to him.

  “Yes, but what if that person’s never found, Denny? How long are you willing to put your life on hold?”

  She picked up the newspaper accounts of the robbery again. “Don’t ask me that, J.D. You know this is something I have to do. I owe Max.” He watched her leaf through the newspaper articles. If she couldn’t clear Max’s name—Suddenly she stopped in midmotion, her fingers trembling as she clutched an article in her hand. “Look at this.”

  J.D. leaned over to see the page she was gripping.

  “Sheila Walker,” Denver whispered. “That reporter who keeps wanting to talk to me. She covered the robbery. No wonder she thinks she’s found the money.”

  “I’M SCARED,” Denver said to J.D. as she hung up the phone. He leaned against the doorway of the phone booth. Just the sight of him made her heart go pitter-patter. She ran her fingers through the curly hair at his nape and breathed in the heady scent of him.

  “You didn’t reach Maggie?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “She should have been back from Missoula by now. As much as I don’t want to do it, I have to call Cline and see if he’s heard anything.” She dialed, then spoke to the dispatcher, who put the deputy sheriff on immediately.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days.”

  Her heart leaped up into her throat. It was Maggie, she thought. “Why? Has something happened?”

  “We’ve caught your uncle’s murderer.”

  Denver fought for breath. “What?” J.D. stared at her face, concern making his eyes the color of pewter.

  “The hitchhiker,” Cline said with obvious satisfaction.

  “The hitchhiker?” she repeated, dumbstruck.

  “He had the murder weapon on him and he confessed. Case closed.” Cline let out a long I-told-you-so sigh. “And as far as that other little detective work you and Garrison did,” Cline continued, “Roland Marsh and I went back in to the park, where you said you saw those elk-horn caches.”

  She gripped the phone. “You and Marsh?”

  “No horn. No sign of any poaching. No dead bear. If I were you, I’d stick with that photography hobby of yours.”

  She started to hang up, but Cline’s next words stopped her.

  “And by the way, I’m not your damned secretary, missy. Everybody and their brother have been calling here.”

  “Who’s everybody?” she asked, hoping there’d be a message from Maggie.

  “Pete. I told him to wait until the dance tonight and if you didn’t show up …”

  She’d forgotten she’d promised to go with Pete. The Montana Country Club band was playing for the Spring Fling at the old railroad station. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d made the date.

  “Pete said to call him. Something about Maggie.”

  “Maggie?”

  “And that reporter woman,” Cline said distastefully. “Sheila Walker. You’re to call her at Max’s office. Said it’s a matter of life and death.” He let out an irritated sigh. “Get an answering machine, will ya?” He hung up.

  Denver stared at the phone, then quickly dialed Maggie’s number. No answer. She rang Pete’s. Still no answer. Finally she called Taylor. “I’m trying to find Maggie,” she said carefully.

  “Isn’t everyone?” Taylor said, not sounding all that happy. “I’ve been looking for her myself. I thought she’d call me when she got back.”

  “Then she is back?”

  �
��That’s what Pete told me. But I have to tell you. I’m worried about her. Pete sounded like she might be in some sort of trouble.”

  “I’ll keep trying Pete’s number,” she said, fighting panic. “If I hear anything, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Wait a minute, where are you?” she heard him ask, but she broke the connection and dialed Max’s office number. What if Sheila really had found out something? The phone rang and rang. No Sheila. Denver hung up and stepped from the booth into J.D.’s arms.

  She fought her growing fears as she recounted first the conversation with Cline, then the one with Taylor. “Pete has Maggie. I’m sure of it. She must have found out Pete wasn’t in Missoula the day Max was killed.” She made a face. “Cline said he and Marsh went to look for the horn. Said they didn’t find it or a trace of the dead bear. What does that tell you?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at her. “That we’re going back to West Yellowstone.”

  “If Pete has Maggie and we can’t trust Cline—” J.D. swore and pulled Denver into his arms. “We have no choice but to go back,” she agreed.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maggie sat in a chair by the fire pretending interest in the flames. She reviewed her options, wondering what Max would have done under the same circumstances, reminding herself that she’d never had Max’s flare for the dramatic—or his total disregard for danger.

  “How long do you plan to hold me here?” she asked the man beside her, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

  Lester Wade smiled in answer. He was small, with soft brown eyes, but Maggie couldn’t miss the hard edge to him. Or the pistol he cradled in his lap.

  Maggie had gotten back from Missoula anxious to share her news with Denver. She’d verified at The Barn that Pete Williams hadn’t been in Missoula the afternoon of the murder with the rest of the band. But when she’d rushed to Denver’s cabin, she’d found the barrel of a gun—held by one of Pete’s band members—waiting for her.

  “Where’s Denver?” Lester had demanded.

  Maggie wished she only knew. Worrying about Denver made her feel braver.

  Lester jumped when the phone rang. He picked it up. “Yeah?” He listened, frowning, then hung up. “Lucky for you, lady. They’ve found Denver. It sounds like she’s headed back.”

  “Headed back here?” Maggie felt sick. Was she being used as a decoy to get Denver to the cabin?

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lester said, sitting across from her. “Everything’s going as planned now.”

  “What a relief,” she said, but Lester didn’t get the sarcasm. The plan seemed to be that Lester and some others would be skipping town tonight with enough money to retire someplace warm. She’d overheard that much when Lester was on the phone earlier. “Do you mind if I stretch my legs?”

  Lester looked worried. “Stay in this room, don’t touch anything and don’t move too fast.”

  “I’m too old to move too fast.”

  The man had no sense of humor, Maggie thought as she got to her feet. She caught a movement outside the window in the growing darkness. A figure popped up for a moment and disappeared again. She moved to block Lester’s view as best she could. A scraggly boy in his teens with large brown eyes peered into the window. He motioned for her to keep quiet and disappeared again. It wasn’t exactly the cavalry but it was help. Possibly.

  “Could I have a glass of water, please?” she asked.

  Lester eyed her suspiciously.

  “I promise not to try to drown myself in it.”

  He shot Maggie a humorless smile and moved cautiously into the kitchen. All the time he let the tap water run, he kept the pistol trained on her. She wandered away from the window, pretending to warm her hands in front of the fire. Lester filled a glass and brought it to her. He put it down on the hearth and stepped back as if he thought she’d try to jump him. He must think that kind of behavior ran in the family.

  He headed back to his chair, but never reached it. His head jerked around at a sound in the hallway, the pistol raised ready to fire. Maggie caught a glimpse of the young man’s head and knew Lester had, too. Quickly grabbing a log from the wood box, Maggie closed her eyes and swung. A gunshot whined through the cabin, echoing off the walls, and someone screamed.

  FROM THE TOP OF Grayling Pass, J.D. could see the lights of West Yellowstone glowing in the distance like a small aurora borealis. He let up on the gas as they topped the hill in the van they’d rented in Bozeman and began the drop down into the wide valley.

  “About this plan of yours …” he said, glancing over at Denver.

  “The blueberry syrup plan?” She shrugged. “It’s biodegradable and environmentally safe. That’s about all I can say about it.”

  She’d had him stop in Bozeman, rent a van, and buy four gallons of blueberry syrup, a bottle opener and some wire.

  J.D. looked over at her, his gaze softening at just the sight of her. “I hope this works.”

  “Have a little faith, Garrison,” she said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her chew at her lower lip and smiled at the familiarity of it. When he wasn’t touching her, he loved looking at her. Her bravado right now made him love her all the more. But offered little reassurance. They were driving straight into a trap and she knew it.

  J.D. honked as they crossed the Madison River bridge, making Denver smile. “I have to tell you these past few days with you have been—”

  “Paradise?” she asked, laughing up at him.

  He grinned. “Being chased by killers, hit on the head with hard objects, shot at with big-game rifles. Yes, Denny, it’s been a little bit of heaven.”

  “Don’t forget that fall into the bathtub.”

  “How could I?”

  “If you’re trying to say I’m not boring, I thank you,” she teased, her gaze on the highway ahead.

  “Boring?” He laughed. “Oh, Denny, you are anything but boring.” His heart ached. “No matter what happens tonight—”

  She touched her finger to his lips. “I know.”

  He pulled her hard against him. “This has to work.”

  They drove into West Yellowstone at one-thirty in the morning. Summer’s Coming, read a sign at the Conoco station. If there were any signs of summer in this still-hibernating tourist town, J.D. couldn’t see them.

  He turned up Geyser Street. “J.D.” Her hand squeezed his arm; he followed her gaze down the block to Max’s office. “There’s a light on. Sheila must be there.”

  “We don’t have much time,” he said as he parked the van. He felt a sense of urgency; they had to be at the dance before two. “Let’s find out what she’s got to say.”

  A chill crawled around his neck as they walked up the steps. J.D. took Denver’s hand. The light was on only in the apartment above; it spilled down the stairs into the office, giving the room an eerie glow. No sounds came from inside. Nothing looked amiss. Except for the front door. It stood open, letting the night in.

  “I don’t like this,” Denver whispered.

  “No kidding.”

  IT TOOK MAGGIE A MOMENT to realize where the screaming was coming from.

  “Hey, lady! Are you nuts?” the young man in front of her yelled. She closed her mouth, swallowing the last of the scream, and nodded. She’d never been more nuts in her life.

  “Thanks,” the kid said, uncovering his ears. “That’s quite a set of lungs you’ve got.”

  “I used to scream professionally,” Maggie told him.

  He grinned at her. “You must have made a fortune.”

  Maggie smiled. “You have to be Davey.”

  “You’ve heard of me?” He sounded pleased.

  Maggie noticed then that the front door stood open and Lester was gone. In the distance, she could hear the roar of an engine dying away down the road. Davey picked up the pistol from the floor.

  “Max told me about you,” she said, taking the gun from hi
m as if it was a dirty diaper. He was the kind of kid Max had always loved to take under his wing; she suspected he was a lot like Max had been at that same age. “And of course your reputation for trouble precedes you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He grinned, obviously pleased. “You want me to go after that guy?”

  “No,” Maggie assured him as she went to the phone. “I want you to stay here with me in case he comes back. And I want you to tell me who killed Max.”

  Davey shrugged. “Sure. A guy Cal calls Midnight.”

  “Midnight?”

  He shrugged again. “Yeah, he offed Max to keep him from dropping a dime on him and Cal.”

  She remembered Max taking a stack of old detective-story paperbacks up to his office. “I’ve got this kid working for me. I’m just trying to help him with his reading,” Max had said.

  “Dropping a dime, huh?” she said to Davey.

  “You know, dropping a dime—making a call to the cops,” he replied.

  “I know. And how did you find out all this about Midnight and Cal?”

  He grinned. “I hang out. I listen. I do what Max did. I’ve been tailing Cal ever since Max bought it.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed. And what else do you know about this Midnight person?” she asked.

  “He’s running a poaching ring here and sending illegal stuff all over the world. Lester and Cal have been stealing antlers and animal stuff out of Yellowstone Park for him. You wanna hear about the animal stuff? It’s pretty gross.”

  She declined and picked up the phone to drop her own dime.

  Davey looked uncomfortable. “You’re not going to call the cops, are you?”

  Maggie dialed the number. “I won’t mention your name.”

  He nodded and headed for the fridge. “I hope you have better food than the place where they were keeping me.”

  The moment Deputy Cline came on the line, Maggie poured out what little information she had based on what Davey had told her, adding the part about her own kidnapping by Lester Wade. She didn’t mention Davey. Cline listened without saying a word.

  “Stay there,” he said when she’d finished. “Lock the doors, don’t let anyone in and don’t answer the phone.” He hung up. She stared at the phone, hoping she’d done the right thing by calling Cline. But she couldn’t throw off the uneasy feeling Cline had given her. Why hadn’t he seemed more surprised by the information?