Sheriff’s Runaway Witness

by Kathleen Creighton

  Kissed her. He had in mind something quick and hard, when he started it-something that would send her a message, clear and simple: Beware of me, little girl, because I’m only going to hurt you. But then he felt her mouth tremble and soften and open to him, and he knew the only message was the one he was getting, which was that kissing her was what he wanted more than his next breath, and the person most likely to wind up hurt was Jethro Jefferson Fox, the Third.

  He hadn’t meant to fold her into his arms, which meant raising her up so that her legs just naturally came around him and her arms lifted to twine around his neck. He felt her fingers in the damp hair on the back of his neck, then a rush of coolness as she took off his hat, and somewhere in the back of his mind was an awareness that losing the hat was something like losing a bit of his own armor.

  And for that moment, at least, he didn’t care. The thinking part of his brain had gone silent, overwhelmed by the part that only felt. Felt and wanted more. Felt the firm, full press of her breasts against his thumping heart and wanted her skin touching his skin. Tasted the sweet, hot wine of her mouth and longed to taste every inch of her with his mouth. Felt the most tender and womanly part of her body nestled against the hardest and most manly part of his and yearned for the barriers of denim and zippers and buttons that separated them to be gone.

  It was that yearning that brought him back from the brink. When the swelling of his body became agony, the desire fogging his brain thinned just enough so he could hear the thinking part shrieking at him: What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you crazy?

  He tried to ignore it for another moment or two, knowing it was going to hurt like bloody hell to tear himself away from her. And it was knowing how he was hurting her that made it possible for him, finally, to let her go. He eased her down until her feet were on solid ground again, then took hold of her arms and pulled them away from his neck. Then, he lifted his mouth from hers. Still holding her arms, he gave her a little shake, breathing like a marathon runner. “There-is that what you wanted?”

  Her eyes, luminous and wounded, stared up at him. He forced himself to look at her, to see the effects of what he was doing to her-the panting, whimpering breaths, the bruised lips and tear-shimmer-remembering how he’d once wanted to kill the person who’d left bruises on her face, knowing the ones he was leaving were far worse because they were the kind that don’t fade.

  “You think that’s what you want?” He caught several rasping breaths of his own. “Then let me tell you about me. Let me tell you who I am.”

  Chapter 12

  “I know who you are,” Rachel whispered. Her mind filled with images of his face, his smile as he gazed down at Sean.

  He closed his eyes and shook her again, his fingers hard on her arms. She was sure there would be bruises. “You don’t,” he said harshly. “You only think you do.”

  “Then I…don’t understand.”

  “I’m a cop-you got that? A cop. And you, lady, are the widow of a crime kingpin’s son, who happened to be present when your husband was shot along with a couple of federal agents. You were there. You’re a witness. Get it?”

  “But I don’t-”

  He shook her again, and she stopped and just stared at him, wishing she could block out these images: the cold glitter of his eyes, the hard, unyielding line of his mouth. A moment ago I was kissing that mouth. How could it have felt so good?

  “You’re a witness. You’re my witness. You are the witness who is going to break this case for me. The witness who’s going to get me my old job back. Now-do you understand what I want from you?”

  She nodded. Her body had gone cold and still. He must have felt it, because he let go of her arms, exhaled and muttered, “Good…” He bent down to pick up his hat from the mossy creek bank where she’d tossed it.

  She cleared her throat. “You want me to testify,” she said carefully, feeling nothing at all, except cold. “You want me to say I saw who killed those two feds.”

  He turned to her, having jammed his hat back on his head, and she saw his eyes glint from the deep shadow of the hat’s brim. “I want you to tell what you saw. What you remember.”

  Rachel drew a deep breath and pulled together the remnants of her strength, self-respect and pride. “Then I’m going to have to disappoint you,” she said, in a voice that didn’t shake. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this for nothing, but I didn’t see anything. Nicky shoved me down behind a Dumpster. I don’t know who killed the law officers. Do you get it? I don’t even know who killed Nick.” She sucked in another breath. “So, you can go home now.”

  She plucked the pink cap Josie had given her from the saddle horn, lifted her foot into the stirrup and, ignoring twinges in tender parts of her body, lifted herself into the saddle. From that height she looked down at the man she’d once thought looked like a hero from an old Western movie. He no longer made her think of John Wayne, or anybody else; now, he was just J.J. And, looking down at him, she still didn’t feel anything. But she knew the pain was out there, gathering like a tsunami wave, heading straight for her. And she knew that when it hit her she wanted to be far away from the man who had caused it.

  “Do you understand?”

  He lifted his head and looked at her, his face stony.

  “I can’t help you. I don’t have anything for you, so you don’t have any reason to stay.”

  “Carlos-”

  “Sage will protect me. He can hire someone. This is my grandfather’s place, and I want you gone.”

  She tugged on the appaloosa’s reins and turned her head toward home. She dug her heels into the mare’s sides and leaned forward over her neck. She saw J.J. leap back out of the way as the mare’s hooves bit into the moist earth, and then she was surging up the shaded slope and into the meadow. Once on the open ground, she gave the horse her head and took what comfort she could from what should have been one of her greatest pleasures-riding a horse at a flat-out gallop through an open field, with the wind in her face and the sun on her back.

  J.J. watched the horse and rider hit the meadow and go thundering toward the barn, two almost identical ponytails streaming like flags in the wind, and felt like throwing his hat to the ground in frustration. How, he wondered, had he managed to botch things so badly? He couldn’t have imagined a worse outcome.

  A moment later, he wished he could have, because a worse outcome is what he got. His sweet little brown mare lifted up her head, uttered a heart-stopping whinny and took off after her friend, the appaloosa.

  So much for ground-tying, J.J. thought. And then, as Moonshine lurched to her feet and went loping up the slope in pursuit of the horses. Et tu, Moon? What is this-you girls stick together?

  He took off his hat, whacked it against his pants leg a time or two, then put it back on and began to make his way through the pines, swearing bitterly at himself. When he got to the meadow, Moonshine came trotting through the grass to meet him. The dog sat down on her haunches and gave him a long, doleful stare, panting hard, tongue lolling.

  “Don’t start with me,” J.J. warned.

  As he watched the two horses and one rider rapidly vanish into the distance at a pace faster than he ever wanted to go on the back of a living creature, he considered he was probably better off walking home.

  “Man, I’m sorry,” Sage said.

  He was in the barn, brushing down the brown horse, Misty, when J.J. got there. Out in the pasture he could see the appaloosa, already placidly grazing. Misty turned her head to look at him with big brown innocent eyes as if to say, “Hey, buddy, what happened to you?” But J.J. wasn’t fooled.

  He leaned against a stall and folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

  Sage threw him a look. “It’s her place, you’re her guest. If she wants you to go…” He shrugged and went back to brushing.

  J.J. coughed, straightened up. “You know, it’s gonna have to be up to you, now, to keep her safe.” Sage nodded. “I mean, I’ll d
o my best to get back here as quick as I can, but…” His plan was to get some backup, some legal authority to hold Rachel, or at least keep her in his protective custody until they could find out what she knew about the shooting. Or until they got enough on Carlos to put him away without her help. Meanwhile… “You got any guns?”

  “Couple deer rifles,” Sage said. “A shotgun.”

  “These guys will have automatic weapons,” J.J. said.

  The house was silent. Entering through the front door, J.J. could see across the courtyard to the veranda, where Rachel sat in the rocker nursing Sean. Since he was pretty sure there was nothing to be gained by another encounter with her, he went through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen, where he found Josie at the sink, stemming a bowlful of strawberries. She glanced up, and he thought he caught the shine of tears in her eyes.

  “Sheriff J.J., I’m so sorry,” she began.

  “Yeah, me, too,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll be out of your way, soon as I can. Listen-is there any place in this house you could hide, if you had to?” Josie turned to look fully at him, the back of one hand, the one holding a paring knife, pressed to her nose. “You know-like a basement, or a safe room…”

  She hesitated, then nodded and pointed the knife at the ceiling. “In the chapel-down at the other end of the house. There’s a secret door. It goes up to the bell tower. It’s Sam’s-it was Mr. Malone’s private place. The only way to get to it is stairs.” She twirled the knife to create a picture of a circular staircase.

  “That’ll do,” J.J. said. “Listen-I want you to promise me, okay? If you see any sign of Carlos or his goons, I want you to get Rachel and the baby to that room. Get them up there, barricade the door and call 911. Don’t go out or open it for anyone until help arrives. Got it?”

  Josie nodded and whispered, “Got it.”

  He left her standing there looking after him and went down the corridor to his room. He took his duffel bag out of the closet and threw his clothes into it, dumped his traveling toiletry case on top of the clothes and zipped the bag shut. Then he got his service Glock and holster out of the drawer in the nightstand and laid it on the bed. He took out the magazine, checked it, put it back. Did the same with his backup Glock, then put it back in its holster where he always wore it, strapped to his right ankle.

  He walked slowly to the French doors and looked out. Rachel was still there, rocking her baby. The way she was sitting he couldn’t see her face, and she wouldn’t know he was there unless he opened the doors or called to her. Which there wasn’t much point in doing. She’d made her feelings plain enough.

  For the best, he told himself, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Just as well. Last thing you needed…

  He went back to the bed, picked up his duffel bag in one hand and his service pistol in the other and left the house by the same route as he’d entered. Josie, he noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

  Outside in the shaded parking area in front of the six-car garage, he opened the door of his pickup and called to Moonshine. When he told her to get in the truck, she looked at him like he’d lost his mind, so he boosted her up by her hind end, tossed the duffel bag in after her and shut the back door. He got into the front, placed the Glock and its holster on the passenger seat, started up the engine and rolled away down the drive.

  At the T intersection, he kept going straight, and when he pulled up to the big barn, Sage came strolling out to meet him, the border collie at his heels. J.J. waited for him to come close, then rolled down his window and handed him the Glock.

  “You ever fire one of these?” he asked.

  “I have not,” Sage said. J.J. showed him how to chamber a round and set the safety. “Keep it on you,” he said, looking the other man square in the eyes. “Don’t put it in a drawer or hang it on a nail. Put the holster on and wear it.”

  “Will do,” Sage said.

  “Goes in the small of your back,” J.J. said.

  “Got it.”

  J.J. nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Meanwhile…keep her safe.”

  Sage nodded. J.J. rolled the window up and drove around in a circle and headed back down the dirt lane.

  He was about halfway down the mountain when he saw the chopper go by overhead. He stomped on the brake, rolled down the window and stuck his head out, watching the chopper make its way up the canyon toward the hacienda.

  Black chopper, no markings. He could think of only one person it could be.

  Carlos Delacorte.

  Or his goons, which amounted to the same thing.

  He swore, hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Started up the truck. What the hell was he going to do? Couldn’t turn around-boulders the size of SUVs on both sides of the road. He had no choice but to keep going until he found a place where he could turn around, and in the meantime…

  I’ll be too late. Sage with a couple of deer rifles and a Glock against God only knows how many trained killers armed with automatic weapons…

  I’ve as good as killed him. And probably Josie and Rachel, too.

  Careening down the rutted dirt road, steering one-handed, he managed to punch in 911 on his cell phone.

  “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “This is San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Deputy J. J. Fox, requesting immediate assistance.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say-”

  “Listen carefully, and don’t interrupt,” J.J. yelled into the phone. “I have a code-oh, hell, let me make this easy for you. I have a possible kidnapping in progress, June Canyon Ranch, off Highway 178. Multiple suspects, all armed and dangerous. Need immediate assistance. This is an emergency. If you have a S.W.A.T. team and a chopper, suggest you get ’em in the air-now.”

  “Sir, if you’ll just stay on the line-”

  “Can’t do that. Just get me some help. That’s June Canyon Ranch-don’t have an address, but it belongs to Sierra Sam Malone. Gotta go.” He dropped the cell phone into the center console and took hold of the wheel with both hands. Sent up a prayer and yanked it to the right, steering into a relatively clear patch of sand. Backed up into the resulting dust cloud, shifted into forward gear and hit the gas. Moonshine whined as the truck went bouncing and jouncing up the winding road, back the way they’d come.

  Rachel saw the helicopter pass overhead as she sat on the veranda rocking Sean. She knew instantly whose it was. She knew, because she had flown in it-or one just like it-not so long ago. The one that had whisked Nicky and her from their wedding reception at Carlos’s Malibu beach house to the airport, where Carlos’s private jet had been standing by to fly them off to Tahiti for their honeymoon.

  Cold enveloped her. She held on to Sean as if someone might try to rip him from her arms. She didn’t remember leaping to her feet or going inside or crossing her room, but when she opened the door, Josie was standing there with her fist raised to knock.

  “Carlos-” Rachel gasped.

  Josie grabbed her arm, motioning with her other hand. “I thought so. Bring him. Come with me. Hurry.”

  Rachel followed her blindly, back onto the veranda, then across the sunlit courtyard. The wing of the house opposite the kitchen and living room was higher than the rest of the hacienda. Josie opened arched double doors in the whitewashed wall and motioned Rachel to go in ahead of her. Inside it was cool and dim, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, Rachel saw that they were in a small chapel. Josie gave her no time to get her bearings, but took her arm and urged her to the left, toward a beautifully carved wooded altar. She hurried ahead of her up the steps, reached up and turned a candle sconce on the wall to the right of the altar. To Rachel’s bemusement, the altar creaked slowly outward to reveal an opening behind.

  “Come,” Josie whispered, gesturing urgently. “You’ll be safe in here.”

  Rachel gave a sobbing laugh. Once again, it seemed, she would be putting her trust in Carlos’s respect for his Roman Catholic upbringing.

  Holding Sean f
or dear life, she ducked through the opening and found herself at the foot of a wrought-iron staircase that wound upward into shadows. Josie waited for her to begin the climb, then pulled the altar and secret door back into position and secured it with a heavy old-fashioned wooden bar before following.

  The stairway ended at a landing, with a single door, also of heavy, old-fashioned wood. Josie opened the door and once again waved Rachel into the room ahead of her before closing and barricading this door, too, with a sturdy wooden bar.

  “This is Sam’s room,” Josie said, breathless with excitement, or from the climb. “It used to be the bell tower, but Sam had the bell taken down. It’s mounted on the front patio downstairs.”

  Rachel nodded, barely listening. There were small windows on three sides of the tiny room, set in walls nearly a foot thick. Other than that, she noticed very little, except that the room was sparsely furnished, with a twin bed covered by an old-fashioned handmade quilt, a nightstand and a straight-backed chair and a small writing desk. There were framed photographs on the walls, but she didn’t take the time to look at them. Still holding Sean, she went to join Josie at one of the windows.

  The window looked out toward the front of the house. To the left was the curving flagstone walk and shallow steps that led to the front door. Straight ahead, the driveway wound through the stands of poplars and pines before reaching the barbed wire fence that bordered the meadow pasture and arrowing off to the right toward the old ranch house and barns. From this vantage point, they had a clear view of the meadow, and the black helicopter that was just settling onto it like a dragonfly onto a pond.

  Sage was in the house, standing in front of the open gun safe, when he heard the chopper fly over. He went to the window and watched the black bird hover, then set itself down in the meadow across from the big house. He was pretty sure the chopper didn’t belong to anybody he wanted to see.