by Cassie Miles
“I don’t think so.”
“Stay in the car.” He was already out the door. Down on one knee, he aimed his handgun toward the road and fired three shots.
Slowly, he stood. “They’re gone.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out from behind the air bag. Her car was destroyed. Everything was ruined.
Chapter Thirteen
By the next morning, Nicole didn’t feel a whole lot better. She stood in front of Mace’s house with a mug of black coffee in one hand. With her other hand, she stroked the crumpled hood of her formerly perky blue sedan. The poor little thing was totaled.
This car had been good to her. She’d driven it across the country from San Francisco and used it to escape from Derek. Until last night, the Escort never let her down.
Now she was without transportation. Her low-cost, no-fault insurance wouldn’t begin to pay for a replacement vehicle. And she had no savings, thanks to Joey.
Mace came up behind her. “It’s hard to believe we got out of that wreck without injury.”
“Apparently, crashing through the fence slowed us down.” She sighed. “This is my fault. I should have known better than to drive with the ‘check brakes’ light on, but I had a tune-up recently and—”
“Before you start feeling too guilty, I should tell you that your brakes had been tampered with. One of the deputies who was here last night checked out your car. There were holes in the brake line, causing a slow drain. The more times you stepped on the brakes, the worse it got.”
“My car was sabotaged? How? It was parked in front of your house, and there were deputies all over the place.”
“Before we brought it here,” Mace reminded her. “It was sitting alone on the highway. Unprotected.”
She turned around to face him. If she had to get more bad news about her sabotaged car, she was glad that Mace was the messenger. Looking at him—even in these circumstances—gave her pleasure. The crisp October sunlight reflected off his shining black hair and rested gracefully on his broad shoulders. “I bet you’ve got a theory about why somebody messed with my brakes.”
Though he wasn’t smiling, he looked amused. “You think I’ve got a theory, huh?”
“You always do.”
“Okay,” he said. “I figured out two possible reasons for sabotage—somebody didn’t want you running off. Or they hoped to cause an accident.”
“Either way they got their wish.” She should’ve been devastated, but when she was with Mace the world seemed like a more optimistic place. “So, what else happened last night after I went to bed?”
“My deputies got here. We chased the bad guys.”
“Did you catch them?”
“Nope.” After all his bragging to Heflin about how his men knew the territory, they’d lost the kidnappers. The beat-up Jeep Wagoneer had driven right up to his doorstep, and he let them get away. “Three carloads of deputies. And we lost them.”
Mace figured they were still in this general area, parked in a barn or a garage. Or they might have gone into the foothills where they could dodge into a ravine or cover the car with tree branches.
As the FBI helicopter whirred overhead, he looked up. “We’ll find them,” he said.
“Whatever happened with that list of names and phone numbers from Joey’s sketchbook?” she asked.
“Barry’s still checking the phone numbers and not having much luck. Todd’s number rings through to a woman who doesn’t know anybody named Todd. George’s phone is disconnected. Jimbo called from a pay phone at the airport.”
“Frustration seems to be the theme for the day,” she said. “Are you sure it was the kidnappers last night?”
He nodded. “I saw inside their car. They were wearing black ski masks.”
When she shuddered, he lightly touched her shoulder. Last night, he thought. Last night, they’d been minutes away from making love. He regretted that missed opportunity more than anything else. There would always be another chance to nab the bad guys, but the moment had passed with Nicole. With this complicated woman, he was never sure when the right time would come again.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asked.
“Flustered. Frightened. And furious.” The light in her blue eyes wavered. Somehow she managed to express all three of those emotions at once. “I don’t understand why the kidnappers are coming after me.”
“They want something from you,” he said.
“But what? If they’d tell me, I’d be delighted to hand over whatever it is and get on with my life.”
He suspected some kind of mind game. However, like Nicole, he couldn’t figure out the whys and wherefores. “I think we’ll have the answers when Joey turns up.”
“I hate to admit it, but he must be behind this,” she said. “I simply don’t understand why he dislikes me so much.”
“Don’t waste your time trying to figure him out.”
“Another theory?” she teased.
“I’ve been through police training and profiling so I know a little bit about psychology. It’s my educated opinion that your former roommate, Joey, is nuttier than a pecan log.”
“Very impressive analysis.”
As they stood there face-to-face, it was easy for Mace to imagine that everything was right with the world. But he knew better. She was in the worst kind of danger, the kind that sneaks up without warning or apparent reason. “It’s best if we make sure you’re protected today. I want you to stay here at the ranch.”
“Can’t do it,” she said. “My car is demolished. My savings are gone. I need to go to work.”
“I admire your grit, but it’s not necessary.”
“It won’t be a problem. Nothing bad is going to happen to me at the café, not with all those people around.”
He lightly stroked her cheek. Her skin was soft as a rose petal. “Let me take care of you, Nicole.”
“You’ve already done so much. You and Jewel.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her face against his hand like a kitten wanting to be scratched behind the ears. “I don’t want to be a freeloader.”
He’d like to take care of her in so many ways, to treat her with the kindness she deserved. “Stay here today.”
She captured his hand between both of hers. “It’s important for me to pay my own way. I learned that when I was with Derek. I need to go back to work. For my own self-respect.”
He couldn’t argue with her. But he still didn’t like it.
WHEN NICOLE STEPPED through the rear door leading into the kitchen of the Elkhorn Café, she was struck by the aroma of three-alarm chili on the stove and burgers on the grill.
Mace followed her inside. “So this is where the magic happens.”
She inhaled deeply. “Smell that?”
“Charbroil?”
“That’s the scent of normalcy.”
Ever since she was sixteen, she’d worked in restaurants, ranging from diners to bistros to chic five-star eateries. She liked waitressing. The kitchens were warm and clean. Most patrons were hungry and, therefore, happy to see her when she came to their table. After she served their food, they forgot about her. That minimal amount of social interaction was perfect.
She took off her parka and hung it on a peg. This afternoon, after she helped Jewel in the barn, she’d cleaned one of her pink uniforms, including slacks and an apron. Again, normal. She was looking forward to spending the dinner hours here—performing her tasks competently and quietly without being the center of attention.
“Hey, Mike,” she called to the cook.
He dropped his spatula, came out from behind the grill and gave her a big hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
This display of affection was so unusual that she could only stare at him, slack-jawed.
“Hey,” Mace said. “Don’t I get a big hug, too?”
“Not from me, wise guy.”
“Then I’m going out front,” Mace said. He pushed through one swinging door just as Deborah, the owner
of the Elkhorn Café, charged through the other. As soon as she spied Nicole, she greeted her with gushy enthusiasm and a kiss on the cheek.
Suspiciously Nicole asked, “Why is everybody being so nice to me?”
“Because we care,” Deborah said.
“No, really.”
“We’re dying to hear your side of the story,” Deborah said. “Did you really deliver the ransom? Did you see the kidnappers?”
“That’s right.”
“And the Feds are giving you a hard time, those creeps.” Her tanned, leathery face pulled into a scowl. Deborah was a hardworking woman who didn’t put up with any nonsense. “Everybody around here is peeved about the Feds and all their nosy questions. As if we’re giving those criminals a hideout?”
“Certainly not,” Nicole said.
“We’re on your side. We’re with you and Mace.” She picked up two plates. “Hey, I hear you two are getting hitched.”
“No,” she said. “We’re friends.”
“If I was you, sweetie, I’d grab him quick. He’s a real catch.” She winked. “We’ve got a big crowd tonight. Everybody’s mad about this investigation stuff, and they want to talk about it.”
Nicole grabbed her order pad and went through the door. The Elkhorn Café was full of people, and all of them were smiling at her. She could hardly walk from one booth to the next without being hugged and reassured.
She sidled up to Mace, who was sitting at the counter. She whispered, “I don’t get it. All of a sudden, everybody’s my friend.”
“Did you win the lottery?” he whispered back.
“No.”
“Then, it must mean that these people like you.”
Two of his deputies—Philips and Greenleaf—regaled the crowd with a blow-by-blow account of how Nicole drove her car through Mace’s fence and crashed into the cottonwood tree.
When she came to the table where Barry the dispatcher was sitting, he gently patted her hand. “You’ve done very well,” he said.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“She’s the only good thing about this investigation,” said Libby Tynsdale, owner of the infamous Elkhorn Lodge. “All those Feds? They’re staying at my place, and I’ve never seen such a bunch of whiners. Can’t lift a finger to take care of themselves.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“And it’s not just them,” Libby said. “That Blake Wentworth is a real piece of work. Always on his cell phone, yelling.”
Barry the dispatcher asked, “Who’s he talking to?”
“Must be an employee,” Libby said. “He keeps yelling about how something got all goofed up. Only he doesn’t say ‘goofed.’ I’m too much of a lady to repeat his profanity.”
Barry exchanged a look with Mace. “Might be interesting to check out those phone records.”
Glancing at this unprepossessing bald man, Nicole understood why Barry and Mace were good friends. Neither of them ever stopped being policemen, not even when they were eating dinner in a crowded restaurant. “What’ll you have, Barry?”
“The usual.” He smiled up at her. “You know, you and Mace look good together.”
She tried to explain, “We’re really not—”
“This is what I’ve heard,” Libby cut in. “Daisy from Las Ranas says she’s catering your wedding.”
Deborah stepped up beside Nicole and snugged her arm around her waist. “I guess I’m going to be looking for another waitress soon.”
“Actually,” she said, “I need this job more than ever. I have to get a new car.”
“Oh, my.” Libby turned to Mace. “I don’t think the sheriff would let his wife work.”
“That’s not his decision,” Nicole returned.
Several people hooted as though they were privy to a private disagreement between her and Mace—an argument that didn’t even exist.
Mace stood and goodnaturedly raised both hands. “That’s enough, folks. I’ve got to take off. Don’t give my girlfriend a hard time.”
“Or you’ll arrest us?” Libby questioned.
“I don’t think there’s a jail that could hold you, ma’am.” As Mace went toward the door, he motioned to Philips and Greenleaf. “You two, come with me.”
As long-haired Philips picked up his jacket, he said, “I told you she was spunky. Mace isn’t going to be able to order her around.”
“Speaking of orders,” Nicole said as she stepped up to another table. “I’d better get busy or you’re all going to starve.”
When Nicole returned to the kitchen, she leaned against the stainless steel door to the walk-in refrigeration unit and took a couple of deep breaths. She’d never been a popular person, never been the belle of the ball. “I don’t get it,” she said aloud.
“Get what?” Deborah asked.
“Everybody being so…concerned.”
“You’re one of us, and you’re in trouble. You need some kindness, sweetie.”
“But nobody ever noticed me before.”
“Well, it’s like that with families. Nobody pays attention until there’s a problem.”
Families? Nicole knew nothing about families. She didn’t have a real family after her father died. “But you people hardly know me.”
“Mace knows you and likes you. That’s enough for us. We’re here to support you.”
Though Nicole had known many people and had many connections, she’d never felt such a sense of belonging. The folks of Elkhorn were here for her, supporting her without question, despite her past. It takes a village… “Thanks, Deb.”
“Now get back to work, sweetie.” The café owner grinned. “We’ve got burgers to fry.”
The rest of the evening passed in a cheerful blur. Nicole’s natural reservoir of poise ran dry after a dozen more hugs and a lot of joking about the Feds. She joined in the laughter with the openness of a child. Her barriers were gone. She felt unconditionally accepted, warmed to the soul.
At about nine o’clock, she made the trek out back to carry a bag of garbage to the dumpster at the edge of the parking lot. A residual smile played across her lips as she lifted her face and allowed the cold night air to refresh her. After she tossed the garbage, closing and locking the dumpster lid so the raccoons and tree squirrels wouldn’t get into the food scraps, she stared up into velvet black skies sprinkled with stars. So peaceful.
Before moving here, she expected to be bored in a small town. But the quiet soothed and refreshed her. The always-changing view of the mountains provided plenty of entertainment.
When Nicole heard someone approaching, she turned with a grin, ready to chat.
She faced the tall man in the black ski mask.
“We meet again,” he said.
Before she could scream, he grabbed her and jammed a white cloth over her mouth. A foreign, antiseptic smell stung her nostrils. A drug? Chloroform?
She struggled, trying not to inhale. But she could already feel her strength fading. She was dizzy, losing consciousness.
WHEN SHE AWOKE, her eyelids felt gummy. Her mouth tasted like cotton. Nicole was aware of being outside, lying in the dirt. An Army blanket had been tossed over her, but she was freezing cold.
When she sat up, her head throbbed. Where was she? What had happened?
It hardly mattered. She pulled the blanket over her head and huddled miserably on the cold, damp earth.
She’d been snatched by the kidnappers, and they brought her here. Were they still here, waiting for her to awaken? Cautiously she listened. Though the inside of her skull hammered, she could hear no other sounds except the whisper of wind and the undefinable skittering of nocturnal creatures.
She peeked out from the blanket. Boot Hill!
The aged grave markers and crumbling tombstones surrounded her like a silent army of death. She’d been brought here to die. Or maybe she was dead already. When she stood, the mysterious ghostwalkers would lead her on an endless, lonely path. She would become the horrifying creature in Joey’s painting.
Don’t be a fool! You’re not dead! Dead people don’t breathe, they don’t feel the cold.
Gathering her courage, she rose. Her legs were still weak, and she almost fell. Bracing her arms against a tombstone, Nicole waited until her breathing was more regular. She took one step, then another.
Silently she offered apologies to the spirits whose graves she trod upon, but she didn’t have the strength to show proper respect. She needed to leave this place. Mace must be worried about her.
The thought of him gave her encouragement. Somehow he would find a way to protect her. Oh, gosh, he was going to be angry that she’d gotten herself captured. This morning he’d warned her.
But how could she have anticipated this?
She remembered her dream, the body hanging from the tree limb. Slowly she lifted her gaze. She turned toward the cottonwoods at the edge of Boot Hill. If she saw someone hanging there, she would run. She wouldn’t confront the vision of her own mortality.
The trees stretched bony fingers toward the starry skies, but there were no skeletons. The cottonwoods were only trees with branches and roots. She was here. In a real, tangible world. Here. And alive.
But she needed to be somewhere else, somewhere warm, somewhere with people. There was nothing nearby. Boot Hill lay halfway between Las Ranas and Elkhorn.
The only sensible action was to start walking, stepping around the gravestones, heading toward the gate in the fence that encircled the cemetery.
She glanced toward the corner of Boot Hill where Mace had found evidence, a tube of acrylic paint. He looked so handsome that day—the day she kissed him for the first time. She held his image in her mind, warding off all the bad things that had happened to her. If she could think only of Mace, she might find the strength to go forward.
Her hand touched the top of the gate and froze. Outside the fence, leaning against the weathered wooden pickets, she saw a man sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. His head drooped as if he’d nodded off. Had he been left behind to guard her?
She ducked down behind the gate. Peering through the dark, she recognized the narrow shoulders and thin neck. It was Joey.