by Cassie Miles
He placed the receiver back onto the cradle, stood and took another shot with his mini-basketball. It swished through the hoop and landed with a thud in the circular wastebasket below. Talking to the princess had improved his aim.
She seemed to make everything better. He’d tried to put their inappropriate kiss out of his mind, but he couldn’t forget what that moment felt like. He’d had a sense that his world had changed, that she’d made a difference.
He held on to that feeling of well-being as he and Wheeler descended the staircase to the first floor. Other people with offices in the courthouse offered greetings which he returned without slowing down to chat. He wanted to get this briefing over with.
Outside, the day was sunny, and there was enough wind to ruffle the American flag on the pole. Jake moved into position at the top of the concrete steps. During the course of this investigation, he’d become acquainted with most of these reporters and photographers, so he noticed a new face—a woman with over-whitened teeth set off by shiny, blood-red lipstick. She brandished her microphone like a club.
“Good morning,” Jake said. “As most of you know, Princess Saida Khalid of Jamala has come to Wind River County. She’s deeply concerned about her brother, Sheik Amir Khalid. We’re following all leads and hope to resolve the case soon.”
Lipstick elbowed her way to the front of the pack. “Is it true that Princess Saida spent last night at your house?”
Not something he intended to discuss. “Next question?”
“I want an answer, Sheriff.” When Lipstick opened her mouth, she looked like she wanted to take a bite out of him. “You’re not married, are you? Did she stay at your place?”
The suggestion of improper behavior was too blatant to ignore. “Last night,” he said, “for her own protection, Princess Saida stayed in the guest bedroom at my house where I live with my sister. Two deputies stood guard outside.”
Someone else asked, “Is she in danger?”
“In light of threats to all the COIN royals, we’re taking every precaution.” In case the men who tried to abduct her were listening, he added, “She is now being protected by her own bodyguard from Jamala who arrived this morning.”
Lipstick jabbed her microphone at him. “Is he better than you at protecting her?”
“I wouldn’t cross him,” Jake said.
A reporter who had been attending press conferences since the beginning called out, “I heard that Princess Saida was involved in a car accident.”
Jake exhaled a brief, frustrated sigh. Though he’d hoped to avoid a big drama, he’d expected information about the attempted abduction to be leaked. Too many people knew. Too many were willing to talk about how incompetent the sheriff’s department was. The princess had been in town for only a few hours and had already been in danger. Where was he while Saida was being attacked? How had he allowed this to happen?
The best damage control was to downplay the attack and keep it from turning into a headline. “Yes,” he said, “there was a car accident.”
“A high-speed chase?” the reporter asked.
Jake leveled with them. “While Princess Saida was driving herself to the Wind River Ranch and Resort, she was forced off the road by two other vehicles. She wasn’t hurt.”
A ripple of excitement chased through the crowd. They were on the scent of a real story. Questions flew like hailstones: What happened to the other cars? Do you have suspects? How did she escape?
Jake raised a hand, signaling for quiet. When the commotion faded to a dull roar, he said, “Nothing to report right now. I’ll keep you apprised of further developments.”
“Hey, Jake.” A familiar and deeply irritating voice boomed his name. “I got a piece of information that just might help you out.”
Burt Maddox swaggered toward him. He wasn’t nicknamed “Big Burt” because of his height. At six feet two inches, Jake was considerably taller. But Maddox was built like a refrigerator. The pearl snaps on his fancy embroidered cowboy shirt strained to the breaking point. When he accidentally-on-purpose nudged Jake’s shoulder, it took an effort not to be knocked over.
Arms raised like a conquering hero, Maddox waved to the media. “Howdy, folks. In case you don’t know, I was sheriff in these parts for fifteen years. I’m retired now, but I like to keep track of what’s going on.”
The locals recognized the former sheriff. Whether they loved him or hated him, the reporters were glad to see him. Maddox was flamboyant. He always gave them a story.
From Jake’s perspective, Maddox was trouble. He wanted to get this jerk out of here as quickly as possible. Stifling a gag reflex, he shook hands. “I appreciate any help you can give us, Burt. Let’s step inside and talk.”
“A little birdie told me you were on the lookout for a couple of vehicles,” Maddox said.
Jake had already mentioned two cars that forced Saida off the road. “We have leads and we’re—”
“I’ve already located one of the vehicles,” Maddox announced as he beamed for the cameras. “That’s right. Crime solved.”
He paused, waiting for applause that didn’t happen, and then he continued, “You all might wonder how I figured this out while Jake was sitting on his thumbs. Well, here’s the deal. Being a sheriff is a whole lot more than following proper procedures. You’ve got to know the territory, to be familiar with the folks in your jurisdiction. Everybody in these parts knows Big Burt Maddox.”
Obviously, he was grandstanding. Did he have actual information or was he taking advantage of a press conference to make Jake look bad? He glanced over at Wheeler who responded with a confused shrug.
A local reporter called out, “Where’s the car, Burt?”
Jake flashed on visions of a media mob swarming his crime scene, destroying evidence. He got a grip on Maddox’s fleshy upper arm and turned him away from the microphones. “Don’t give the location. You know what will happen.”
“That’s your problem, Sheriff Wolf.” He spoke Jake’s name with a sneer. “Take your hand off me.”
“Be reasonable.”
“Go to hell, Jake.”
He wrenched away and spun around to face his audience with a broad grin. “Ever since this stuff started happening with these fancy-pants royal folks, I’ve been thinking. They aren’t in danger from any of us locals. There’s no reason for any citizen of Wind River County to give a hoot about their countries, excepting that we hate being gouged by oil-rich foreigners.”
Lipstick was the only person who kept her focus trained on Jake. “Is that how you feel, Sheriff? Do you hate the sheiks?”
“No.” Jake was too appalled by her question to say more.
“What about Princess Saida?” Lipstick called out. “How do you feel about her?”
Clearly, he had lost control of the situation. His fingers clenched into fists. If he punched Maddox in the gut, it might ruin his standing and reputation. But it might be worth it.
“Well, now,” Maddox said, “you can talk to Jake about his crush on the princess after I get done solving his case for him.”
“Yeah,” said a local, “let Big Burt finish what he has to say.”
Maddox said, “I figured that if locals were mixed up in this mess, they had to be getting paid off. Some bad guy with deep pockets had come to town and was hiring people to do his bidding. That’s when I noticed Chad Granger was spreading money around.”
Jake knew Chad Granger, knew where he lived, knew that he owned a truck. If he and Wheeler moved fast, they might be able to reach Granger’s place before the camera crews. He turned to his deputy. “Is your car close?”
“Yessir.”
Jake stepped up to the microphones. “We’re done. Next briefing is four o’clock.”
As he and Wheeler walked away, he heard Maddox start in. “No need for you folks to leave. Based on my years of experience, I’d be happy to give my theory of how the current situation…”
Jake kept on walking. Die, blowhard.
Chapter
Ten
In the passenger seat of the Hummer with her laptop perched on the console, Saida had watched Jake’s press conference with dismay. His opening words had been just fine. He’d presented a very sherifflike image of responsibility and control. And, of course, gorgeousness.
The camera loved Jake. His shoulders seemed impossibly broad, yet still in proportion with his narrow hips. Sunlight glistened in his black hair. His deep-set eyes, high cheekbones and strong jaw made him rugged. She would have been happier if the live feed on her computer had begun and ended with a simple picture of Jake standing in front of the courthouse.
Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened. Right away he’d been hit with the question about why she’d stayed at his house, and he’d struggled to avoid the taint of scandal. Poor Jake!
If she’d been at the briefing, she could have easily defused that reporter. For years, she’d been dealing with nasty insinuations about her personal life, which she counted as one of the reasons she’d never had a relationship that lasted for more than a couple of months.
Jake’s problems had gotten worse when that horrible Maddox person had popped up with his snide references about Jake’s incompetence and his assertion that he’d found the truck. Was it true? Had this buffoon stumbled across a legitimate clue?
When Jake left the press conference, she knew he was going to check on that lead. And she wanted to be there.
“Nasim,” she called out the open window. “We need to go.”
He came around the front of the vehicle to her window. The parking place he’d chosen was a pull-off in a grassy field beside a barbed-wire fence with unrestricted views in all directions. She supposed Nasim had a strategic reason for selecting this particular spot but hadn’t asked.
He rested his arm on her window ledge. “What is our destination?”
“The truck that ran me off the road might have been found.”
A pained expression pinched his lips. “Again, I apologize for the puny rental car. I should have realized that—”
“Nasim,” she interrupted, “you take better care of me than anyone else possibly could. Your service to my family has always been above and beyond.”
“The family is in disarray.” His expression darkened. “You were threatened. Amir is missing.”
“Which is why we need to get moving.”
While they drove, she continued to watch the press conference on her computer screen. The bulky, unpleasant Maddox clearly enjoyed the spotlight. He postured and carried on, ignoring questions about where he had seen the damaged truck. His reluctance to reveal that information was the responsible thing to do. If he mentioned the site, the media would go charging off in that direction and cause trouble.
Jake had seemed to know where he was headed. To the home of the truck’s owner, Chad Granger? It wouldn’t be difficult for her to look up the address and follow the GPS instructions. But what if the truck wasn’t at Granger’s house?
As if in reply to her silent question, Maddox said, “I keep an eye on my neighbors. When I checked around Chad Granger’s place, I saw what I needed to see.”
Aloud, she said, “The truck is at the home of Chad Granger.”
After a moment’s search and scan, she and Nasim had their coordinates. As they drove, she told him about Maddox and the press conference.
Nasim tapped the side of his prominent nose. “Something smells fishy.”
“How so?”
“Mr. Maddox is an enemy of Sheriff Wolf. By finding this important clue, he creates embarrassment for the sheriff. I think, perhaps, this discovery is too convenient.”
She appreciated the way Nasim thought. “You’re suggesting that Maddox knew about the truck because he and Granger are working together.”
Again, he tapped his nose. “Fishy.”
But why would Maddox betray his partner?
She leaned back in the comfortable seat and stared through the windshield of the Hummer. The wide, open Wyoming landscape became a bit more populated as they passed a crossroads with a cluster of motorcycles, a bar and a gas station. The houses were acres apart. Many had been abandoned; the wood structures weathered to a ghostly gray.
“I must ask,” Nasim said, “will we be helping Sheriff Wolf in his investigation? Or will our presence be a nuisance?”
“Definitely a help.” On this point, she was crystal clear. “There are some things I can do better than he can.”
“I see.” Nasim made a snorting noise that resonated in his nose and came out as a honk. “The sheriff will be most fortunate to have your assistance.”
JAKE HAD ONLY BEEN SHERIFF for a year, but he’d paid his dues as a cop and a detective. His police experience told him that rushing from the courthouse to Granger’s property was a mistake. He didn’t have a warrant, didn’t even have his gun or handcuffs. He was unprepared, unprofessional.
But he had no choice. He and Wheeler had to move fast. If Granger knew he’d been identified as the owner of the truck, he’d turn rabbit and run.
Using the police radio in Wheeler’s SUV, he called for all available units to respond to Chad Granger’s house. Jane Cameron and her forensic team wouldn’t be needed unless they actually found the damned truck.
He asked Wheeler, “Do you have an extra gun?”
Wheeler took his eyes off the road for a second to look at him. “No, sir.”
When Jake had been working the city beat in Cheyenne, he carried a sidearm, wore an ankle holster and had an additional weapon in his car. The pace of crime in Wind River County was considerably slower. “I’ll take your stun gun. How about vests?”
“Two in the back. Do you think we’ll need them?”
“If Maddox was telling the truth, Granger was getting paid to cause trouble for the royals. He could be involved in some of the other violence.” Those attacks ranged from sniper fire to bombs. “We’ll treat Granger as an armed and dangerous suspect.”
“You’re the boss.” Wheeler’s cheeks flushed red. This might be the most excitement he’d ever encountered on the job. “What do we do when we get there?”
“Put on the vests. Approach the house with weapons drawn. If Granger doesn’t answer, we’ll take a quick look around. There’s no need to bust down his front door.”
Not without a warrant or a solid reason to suspect that Granger was a danger to himself or others. The tip from Maddox might turn out to be nothing. Jake wouldn’t be surprised; this whole thing felt like a setup.
They were nearing the long driveway leading to the ram-shackle ranch that belonged to Chad Granger. “Turn off the lightbar,” Jake said. “On the off chance that he doesn’t know we’re coming for him, let’s not give him an alert.”
The big white SUV with the sheriff’s logo on the side was warning enough. Wheeler slowed as he made the final turn.
“Granger has let this place go to hell,” Wheeler said. “Before his mama died, it used to be neat and pretty.”
Not anymore. Weeds consumed the garden plot. The paint on the little two-story was cracked and peeling. A scrap of cardboard was duct taped over a broken window. The barn behind the house was even more disreputable—not fit for livestock, not even sheep.
“I never knew the late Mrs. Granger,” Jake said. His prior visits to this house had been to arrest or to question Chad—a stupid, mean drunk who was prone to fistfights.
“A decent lady,” Wheeler said, “she played organ at the church and gave piano lessons. After her husband died, she struggled to make ends meet.”
Jake remembered Saida saying that we can’t choose our parents. The opposite was also true. The churchgoing Mrs. Granger would have been sorely disappointed in her son.
Ironically, Saida’s arrival in town and the botched abduction attempt might provide the best lead he’d had on solving the royal crime spree. If Granger was actually involved, it wouldn’t be hard to convince this weak-minded moron to give up his connections for a lesser sentence.
Wheeler parked. They put on the
vests and mounted the steps to the long porch, which was littered with rusting beer cans. A mangy black cat slipped around the edge of the house and hopped onto an overturned rocking chair to watch.
Jake hammered on the door. “Sheriff’s department. Open up, Granger.”
He stepped to one side in case Granger decided to shoot through the door. Wheeler stood opposite with his gun held in both hands, ready to shoot. They listened hard. No sound came from inside the house. Jake knocked twice more.
“If he’s in there,” Wheeler said, “he’s not moving around.”
Jake stepped off the porch. “Let’s take a quick look around.”
He hoped they’d find something that would justify breaking into Granger’s house. The garage door was open. Inside, Jake saw a shiny, new motorcycle. “I wouldn’t think Granger could afford this machine.”
“Maddox said he was throwing money around. I guess this is proof.”
“Makes sense,” Jake said. But even a scumbag like Granger might have come into unexpected money. “It’s not enough. We need evidence that will stand up in court.”
The black cat crossed their path and headed toward the barn, which was probably its natural habitat—a veritable sanctuary for field mice. Jake followed.
On the far side of the barn, he found the truck. Like the rest of Granger’s property, the vehicle was filthy. The passenger side was badly scraped and dented.
“Here’s your proof,” Wheeler said.
Jake circled the truck being careful not to touch anything and leave prints. He peered over the edge into the truck bed and saw an array of clutter: an old tire, beer cans, two unopened bags of cement. A pile of old, filthy blankets and drop cloths were arranged at one side of the bed.
Wheeler held out a pair of white latex gloves. “The CSIs will have my butt if we don’t put these on.”
“That’s good police work. Professional.” Unlike Jake who had bolted from the press conference, his deputy was prepared for whatever they might find. Irritated with himself, Jake stuck his fingers into the gloves. “I want to see what’s under those blankets.”