Restless Spirit

by Cassie Miles

  “Don’t let appearances deceive you. She’s tough as nails. Jewel runs everything around here, including me.”

  She found it hard to believe that anyone could order Mace around.

  When they entered her bedroom, he closed the window and pulled her back into the hall. “Sorry to evict you again, but this is another crime scene.”

  “And it might be bugged,” she whispered.

  “I doubt that our kidnappers are using long-range transmitters, but we won’t take any chances. I’ll have Barry do a sweep through the whole house.” He escorted her to his bedroom. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”

  In his bed? “Where will you—”

  “Someplace else,” he said. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a very long day.”

  He patted her shoulder. For a moment, she thought he might lean close and give her a little kiss on the cheek. Her body involuntarily inclined toward him. A kiss from Mace might not be so bad. It might be marvelous.

  “The phone,” she remembered. “I need the phone in case Joey calls.”

  “Good point. I’ll bring it in here.”

  When he left the room, she peeled off her clothes down to her bra and panties. His bed! She would be sleeping in Mace’s bed. What sort of dreams would she have?

  She slipped between the sheets of the king-size bed and wriggled around, trying to find the spot where Mace usually slept. The pillow still held the imprint of his head, and she rested her cheek exactly in that spot. The bed linen smelled like him—an earthy scent of dried leaves and pine. She imagined him in the bed beside her, protecting her.

  There was a rap on the door.

  She pulled the comforter up to her chin. “Come in.”

  Mace entered with the mobile phone in his hand. He placed it on the bedside table beside a digital alarm clock. When he gazed at her, his eyebrow lifted in a sardonic question mark. He seemed to be asking a silent question that had nothing to do with this investigation. It was as though he saw her differently, not like a cop trying to get information from a witness. He was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman. Gently, he said, “Good night, Nicole.”

  The intimacy in his baritone voice strummed a chord that resonated through her entire body. As she returned his warm gaze, she finally felt relaxed enough to smile. “G’night.”

  When he turned off the bedside lamp and left the room, she could still feel his presence. Hope burned more brightly within her, like a campfire keeping all the wolves at bay.

  As soon as she closed her eyes, she was sound asleep, free from guilt.

  THOUGH IT FELT LIKE ONLY a moment before she opened her eyes again, Nicole saw sunlight at the edge of the window curtains. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was after eight o’clock.

  Though she reveled for a moment in the sensual pleasure of Mace’s warm bed, anxiety pricked at her nerve endings. Today, the FBI would arrive. As would Blake Wentworth, Joey’s uncle. And the kidnappers expected her to deliver the ransom. She was about to be dumped from the frying pan into the fire.

  Quickly, she left the bed, dressed in her clothes from last night and went to the bathroom to wash up. Her hair was a complete disaster. She unfastened the remnants of her braid, found a brush in the bathroom cabinet and dragged the bristles through the tangles.

  Her natural blond hair had always been one of her better features. Thick and wavy, it hung nearly to her waist. She considered leaving her hair loose. Mace might like it that way. Most men did.

  She frowned at her face in the mirror. No way should she try to seduce the sheriff. Every time she’d used her feminine wiles, Nicole had gotten into trouble—most notably with Derek. He was a wealthy attorney, a regular at the Denver restaurant where she worked, who never should have given her a second look. Almost as a joke, she’d flirted with him—showing a glimpse of cleavage and sharing hot, sultry glances. Before she knew what was happening, they were married. She became his trophy wife…and his punching bag.

  Quickly, she plaited her hair in a tight, neat French braid. Never again would she practice the fine art of seduction. Not with Mace or anyone else.

  Before she left his bedroom, she grabbed the mobile phone—a reminder that the kidnappers would call. Sooner or later. And they would tell her how to deliver the ransom. Then, she would leave Elkhorn forever.

  In the kitchen, she found Jewel sitting at a long maple table with a ledger open in front of her. October sunlight splashed through windows that were half-covered by blue and white gingham café curtains. “Ready for coffee?” she asked.

  “You read my mind,” Nicole said. She turned toward the deep blue tiled countertops. “I can get my own.”

  “You sit,” Jewel ordered. “English muffin or homemade banana bread?”

  “Bread, please.” She placed the mobile phone on the table and sat at the table, hands neatly folded in her lap. “Mace said you run a horse ranch.”

  “I keep about a dozen head, ranging from champion Arabians to a goofy little burro. I raise them, train them, trade them and sell them.” She placed a coffee mug on the table along with a sugar bowl and creamer. “It’s a good life.”

  “Have you always lived here?”

  “When I was twelve, I moved to Kentucky to work at a stable with race horses. It was my dream to be a jockey.” Standing at the counter, she sliced a thick slab of banana bread. “Then I turned thirteen and grew six inches in a year. If I’d stayed petite like you, I might have ridden in the Derby.”

  “Funny,” Nicole said, adding a dollop of cream to her coffee. “I always wished I could be taller.”

  “No woman is ever really satisfied with what she’s got.” Jewel placed the bread in front of Nicole and sat at the table beside her. “And so, to answer your question, I’ve lived a lot of places besides Elkhorn, but this is home. Three years ago, I came back to stay. My dad needed a lot of nursing after he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nicole said.

  “He passed away a year and a half ago. A shell of the man he once was. It’s hard to watch your parents grow old.”

  Nicole would have given anything to see her parents reach their golden age. “Did Mace move back here at the same time?”

  “Just about.” Jewel closed the ledger book on the kitchen table. “At first, I felt guilty about pulling him away from his career as a police detective in Denver. But I think he was ready to leave the big city PD with all its rules and restrictions. As sheriff, he gets to run things his way.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Nicole said.

  Jewel pushed her straight, shiny black hair off her forehead. “He’s going to hate having the FBI order him around.”

  Last night, Nicole remembered, Mace had said Jewel was the one who issued the orders. He’d also characterized his sister as being tough which wasn’t Nicole’s impression at all. Jewel seemed smart, independent and sensible in a common sense way.

  Nicole took a bite of the moist banana bread. “Delicious.”

  “There’s not much left. Last night, the deputies brought their appetites. Mace left a couple of them here to keep an eye on things.” She pointed to the mobile phone on the table. “Are you expecting a call?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. From the kidnappers. Barry had the calls from my cabin forwarded to this number.”

  “Wow,” Jewel said. “I still can’t believe this is happening in sleepy little Elkhorn.”

  Nicole took another bite of the tasty bread and another sip of the excellent coffee. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her paper napkin.

  “You’re very ladylike,” Jewel said. There was no condemnation in her voice; she was merely stating a fact.

  “I’m a neat freak,” Nicole admitted. “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”

  “Is that the way you were brought up?”

  “The opposite,” Nicole said. “My early life was chaos. Now, I need tidiness. It gives me a sense of control.”

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nbsp; “Control is important,” Jewel said, “but I like it when things get a little out of hand. You know, a challenge. Like breaking a wild stallion.”

  Nicole had always taken small bites from life, and she envied Jewel’s spirited attitude. “Is that how you handle Mace? Like a wild stallion?”

  “Oh dear, you’re not falling for the big lug, are you?”

  “Is he seeing anyone?” Nicole asked.

  “Not now. Not for a while. He’s too busy taking care of the entire county to settle on any one woman.”

  And how might he be tamed? She doubted he could be broken because his will was far too strong. Maybe it was better to take baby steps with him. Stop! Warning: You are approaching the seduction zone!

  She needed to forget Mace. Soon as possible, she was moving on.

  The mobile telephone rang.

  She gasped and stared at it. What had Mace told her to do? Just answer. Her conversation would be recorded. She needed to keep the kidnappers on the line as long as possible so the call could be traced.

  Jewel touched her arm. “It’s okay. Go ahead and pick it up.”

  She pressed the Talk button. “Hello?”

  “Couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, could you? You had to tell the sheriff.”

  “I’m sorry, Joey.” He sounded furious, which was better than terrified. “Are you okay?”

  “Is the ransom here yet?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know.” How could she keep him on the line? “If you want to hold, I might be able to contact somebody and—”

  “Don’t screw this up. I’ll call again later.”

  The phone went dead in her hand.

  Chapter Six

  At the airfield outside Elkhorn, Mace parked his Explorer beside the trailer-size office. This one-hangar landing strip was little more than tarmac and a wind sock, usually unmanned. But today, a half-dozen people milled around. Word had spread that the Feds were arriving today, and people in Elkhorn wanted to get a look. An FBI investigation into a kidnapping was a big deal for Sterling County.

  As a matter of fact, Mace wasn’t much better than the other gawkers. Nobody had invited him to the airstrip, but he’d come, nonetheless, to meet the plane carrying Agent Heflin and his FBI crew of kidnap specialists—experts in sophisticated monitoring and surveillance techniques.

  Stepping out of his vehicle into the crisp October morning, Mace stretched his back and shoulders. He squinted through dark glasses at the clear-blue Colorado sky arching above foothills and conifers highlighted with frost. A good day for hunting.

  For a moment, Mace was tempted to grab his camping gear and his rifle, and disappear until the FBI circus left town. That would be one way to avoid the humiliation of facing all the mistakes he’d made thus far in his investigation—including his fruitless chase of the kidnappers last night.

  The New Mexico plates on the kidnapper’s vehicle had proved to be another dead end. All Mace had learned from crawling on his belly through the icy shadows was that there were at least three kidnappers and they were driving a black or dark-blue Jeep Wagoneer. He couldn’t even provide descriptions of the men, except that two of them were about six feet tall and one of them was dumb enough to wear a cowboy hat on top of his ski mask.

  The worst aspect of last night’s adventure was trying to make sense out of Nicole’s behavior. Though Mace believed she was acting out of fear, he’d be hard-pressed to explain to the FBI why she shouldn’t be their number-one suspect.

  Inside his shearling jacket, his cell phone rang and he answered. It was Barry.

  “They called,” he said. “The kidnappers called Nicole.”

  “Could you trace the phone?”

  “No luck. It was the cell phone again, and they didn’t stay on the line long enough to triangulate their position.”

  “Did you record the call?” Mace asked.

  “You bet,” he said proudly. “My equipment worked like a charm. Here it is.”

  Mace listened while Joey berated and threatened Nicole. She tried to keep him on the line, but he disconnected too quickly.

  To Barry, he said, “Play it again.”

  Through the cell phone, Mace listened for background noise and nuance. Joey’s voice sounded aggressive and angry, not in the least bit scared. Which was consistent with his behavior last night. Joey had snapped at his supposed captors, and they hadn’t needed to restrain him.

  Mace’s impressions were beginning to coalesce into a theory: Joey Wentworth might be a willing partner in this supposed kidnapping. He might have planned the whole thing to rip off his uncle.

  “Want to hear it again?” Barry asked.

  “That’s enough for now,” Mace said. “After I pick up Special Agent Heflin, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Over and out,” Barry said.

  Mace punched in his home number and waited through six rings until Jewel picked up. “Put Nicole on the phone.”

  “Not until you say please, big brother.”

  Now was definitely not the time for Jewel to give him a hard time. “When did you suddenly get manners?”

  “I’m learning from Nicole. I like her, Mace. She has this really interesting idea about controlling the little things in life, like being polite and—”

  “Just put her on the phone. Please.”

  From a distance Mace heard the whine of a midsize turbo jet. He peered toward the north and saw sunlight glinting off the white-winged aircraft.

  “Hello?” Nicole said.

  “I need the names of anybody Joey hangs out with around here.”

  “We went over this before,” she said. “Joey’s a loner, and I really don’t know his friends.”

  The jet was making its approach to the airstrip. Before the Feds landed, Mace wished he could have a substantive lead. At least a possible list of suspects.

  “What about an address book?” he asked. Last night at the cabin, he hadn’t found anything with a list of names or phone numbers.

  “He has a PalmPilot that he never uses. I think he keeps all his personal information at his apartment in Denver,” she said. “He uses that as his legal address.”

  The jet taxied to a stop and circled around toward the hangar. “Think, Nicole.”

  “Maybe this will help,” she said. “One time when I was posing for him, Joey got a phone call. He grabbed a blue sketchbook off the counter where he keeps all his paints and made a note on the inside cover.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s a start.”

  “Mace, I had another contact with Joey. It was just a little while ago.”

  “I know. I listened to the recording.” He wondered if she’d noticed anything strange in Joey’s attitude. “How did you think he sounded?”

  “Mad,” she said. “I betrayed him.”

  Mace suspected the opposite was true. Joey was using her. “The Feds are here. I’ll see you soon.”

  Pocketing his cell phone, Mace strode across the tarmac and introduced himself to Special Agent Luke Heflin. He was about six feet tall, the same height as Mace, and probably within ten pounds of Mace’s weight. The dark-haired Heflin wasn’t dressed in the typical FBI men-in-black suit. He wore beige corduroy trousers and a patterned ski sweater, more appropriate for a trip to a ski resort than to the farming and ranching communities near Elkhorn. He was accompanied by four other agents who busily unloaded their suitcases and equipment from the belly of the jet.

  “I’d be happy to give you and your men a ride to the Wentworth cabin,” Mace said.

  “That won’t be necessary, Sheriff. We’ve arranged for a van from the Elkhorn Lodge. That will be our base of operations.”

  He’d obviously never seen the Lodge, a dilapidated two-story stucco building that was nearly as old as the eccentric seventy-year-old woman who ran it, Libby Tynsdale.

  Heflin checked his wristwatch. “The van should be here any minute.”

  Mace didn’t feel inclined to explain that tourism wasn’t a big business in Sterling Co
unty, and Libby had never felt the need to cater to her guests, who were mostly hunters and fishermen. She showed up when she wanted and sometimes not at all.

  “In the meantime,” Mace said, “I can bring you up-to-date on our investigation.”

  “Not here.” Heflin glanced suspiciously at the folks hanging around the airfield. “We’ll talk in your vehicle.”

  Behind the wheel of his Explorer, Mace turned to Heflin, who sat in the passenger seat with the window closed. The agent spoke first, “Let’s get one thing straight, Sheriff. Your casual attitude might work well for local law enforcement, but it’s not appropriate in this situation. This is an FBI operation, and we have procedures that have been tested and proved effective in kidnappings.”

  “I heard somewhere that the FBI success ratio in rescuing victims who are kidnapped for ransom is nearly sixty-five percent.”

  “As I said, it’s effective.”

  “Not for the thirty-five percent who get killed,” Mace said. “I’m not looking for a fight. I say we work together, coordinate our efforts.”

  “As long as you understand that this is my jurisdiction,” Heflin said. “I checked you out before I came down here. When you were with the Denver police, you had a reputation for bending the rules and were written up three times for insubordination. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Don’t give me a reason to cause any,” Mace said. His good intentions for establishing a cooperative effort with Heflin were fading fast. “Are you ready to hear about the contacts we’ve had with the kidnappers?”

  “Yes, and I’ll also want a written report.”

  Outlining the events of last night, Mace got all the way up to the part where he followed Nicole.

  Heflin interrupted, “Are you saying that the kidnappers broke into your home to leave this note?”

  “We found scratches on a side door. The lock was picked.”

  “These guys are professionals,” Heflin said. “A slick break-and-enter job. Placing bugging devices. Using an untraceable cell phone.”