Colton Cowboy Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  “No,” Ryan said shaking his head, “I said someone shot at her.”

  “I—” Mrs. Baxter shot a dubious glance to her lawyer.

  “We can rewind the recording,” Hunnicutt said, nodding to the gadget on the table, “and play it back for you, if you’d like proof.” He scratched his chin and pulled a face that said he was intrigued. “I do find it interesting, though, that you assume that she was dead.”

  Irene turned back to glare at the two detectives, her chest heaving with indignation. “Do not play word games with me, Detectives, twisting everything I say, or this interview is over!”

  “I’ve also noticed she has yet to ask how you are, how badly hurt you might be,” Jack said, voicing Tracy’s thoughts. He cut a side glance to her, and she met his gaze. Even in the dimly lit room, his eyes held a bright gleam that stole her breath.

  “I know. Should I be offended that she doesn’t care?”

  In the interrogation room, Irene divided a hard look between Ryan and Detective Hunnicutt. “So? Is she or isn’t she dead?”

  This time it was Officer Grunnel, in the observation room with them, that scoffed and muttered under his breath. “Cold.”

  Tracy shivered. She’d never known just how unfeeling and selfish Irene Baxter was until today. She shouldn’t be surprised. She was Cliff’s mother, after all. She felt more than saw Jack shift closer to her. She welcomed the warmth as his body heat wrapped around her in the confined, overly air-conditioned room.

  “She survived the shooting,” Ryan said cryptically, leaving it to Irene to inquire—or not—about Tracy’s exact condition. Her eyebrows twitching and her mouth pinching slightly, Irene chose the latter.

  Under normal circumstances, Tracy might have been hurt by the indifference, the lack of compassion shown by her late husband’s mother. But things being what they were, she’d expected no more from Mrs. Baxter.

  Detective Hunnicutt flipped open the file folder he’d brought in with him and pulled out the police sketch of the shooter. As he slid the sheet across the table, he asked, “Do you recognize this man?”

  Irene dragged the picture closer for a better look, and Tracy noticed the woman’s hand was shaking. Her ex-mother-in-law schooled her face as she examined the drawing. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life.”

  “Are you sure?” Hunnicutt asked. “Take your time.”

  “I said I don’t know him.” She shoved the picture back across the table and folded her arms across her bosom, shaking her head. “This is a waste of my time. Why are you asking me about this?” She focused her attention on Detective Colton, her thin eyebrows dipping low. “What did that girl say about us that brought you all the way up here?”

  “By ‘that girl,’ may I assume you are referring to Ms. McCain?” Ryan asked.

  “Of course, Tracy! Isn’t she the reason we’re here? Because someone tried to kill her?”

  “Once again, ma’am,” Ryan said, “you’re putting words in our mouth. Why do you assume the shooter was trying to kill her?”

  Mrs. Baxter’s lips pursed, and she shifted in her chair, clearly growing agitated. “A natural assumption, gentlemen. Why else would someone shoot at her?”

  Ryan lifted a shoulder. “There are as many reasons for a person’s actions as there are people on this planet, ma’am. Maybe he simply wanted to scare her. Or he could have been a hunter who mistook what he saw and fired recklessly.”

  Mrs. Baxter’s nostrils flared as she took a deep, aggrieved breath. “If you want to dicker over semantics, Detective, I suggest you do it on your own time. Either charge me with something or let me go home.”

  Hunnicutt rocked back in his chair and raised both hands. “Hey, like I said, you’re not under arrest. You may leave any time.”

  “Good.” She turned to her lawyer with a nod. “Joseph.”

  Irene and Rampart rose to their feet, and Tracy’s heartbeat scrambled. “That’s it?” She jerked a panicked look to Officer Grunnel for confirmation. “But they didn’t—”

  “Of course,” Ryan said in the interview room, drawing Tracy’s attention back to the one-way window. “I’d have thought you’d be more interested in helping find the person responsible for firing on a member of your family.”

  Irene paused, her hand on the strap of the purse she’d hung on the back of her chair.

  “I know I want him caught and locked up. See—” Ryan leaned forward, his expression grave “—the man put my nephew at risk, too. Seth is only five, and I love him like my own son.”

  Tracy sensed the tightening of Jack’s muscles as he drew his spine taller and his breath caught. A quick side glance to the spasming tendons at his jaw confirmed the tension gripping him. Without really thinking about what she was doing or why, Tracy reached for his hand and curled her fingers around his. He gave her a brief startled look before squeezing her hand and returning his gaze to his brother.

  “I want the man responsible for the shooting,” Detective Colton was saying, “if only to make him pay for scaring Seth and endangering an innocent little boy.”

  Irene’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the back of the chair, as if she were realizing how callous she’d appear if she dismissed Seth’s involvement in what had happened. Even if she could discount Tracy’s. “You didn’t mention the little boy before. Was the boy hurt?”

  Ryan shook his head. “Not badly. A few scrapes as they scrambled for cover. Tracy protected him, for which my family will be eternally grateful.”

  Jack angled his head toward Tracy, and she met his gaze. His eyes were softer, reflecting a warmth that said he echoed his brother’s sentiments. He gave her fingers another pulse-like squeeze, and something airy and magical fluttered in her chest. After being on the receiving end of Jack’s hard-edged suspicion for days, this kinder, gentler Jack touched a part of Tracy that had been left raw and aching after Cliff’s abuse.

  “Not that Ms. McCain deserved to be frightened or put at risk herself,” Ryan added. He waited a beat then stood like the others in the interview room. “We still need to talk to your husband, of course. If you would be so kind as to wait here, we’ll let you know when we are through questioning him.”

  After whispering something to his client, Rampart straightened his tie and followed Hunnicutt to the door. Ryan and Rampart trailed out behind Hunnicutt, leaving Irene by herself. She pulled the chair back out and dropped into the seat with a huff and a glower at the closed door.

  “I want to watch the interview of Mr. Baxter, too,” Jack said, cutting a look to Officer Grunnel. “Will they question him in this same room?”

  “No, I’ll take you to the new observation room across the hall in a minute. Detective Hunnicutt didn’t want the Baxters to see you or know you were on the premises.”

  “All right.” Jack slipped his hand from Tracy’s and moved it to her back, as if to show her out to the hall.

  But Tracy’s gaze stayed locked on Irene, fascinated by the woman’s behavior once she thought she was alone. Mrs. Baxter rubbed her temples, her face puckered in an angry sneer. “Of all the incompetent...” she muttered before letting her hand drop to the table with a grunt of frustration.

  Incompetent? Tracy puzzled over Irene’s grumbled word choice. Who did she think was not performing up to standard? Rampart? Detectives Colton and Hunnicutt?

  With an eerie sense of intuition, a chill slithered through her and pooled in her gut. “The shooter.”

  Jack hesitated by the door and turned back to her. “Did you say something?”

  Tracy’s throat felt dry, and she had to force herself to swallow before she could speak. “I said, ‘the shooter.’” She flattened her hand over her jittery stomach. “After your brother and Detective Hunnicutt left the room, Mrs. Baxter mumbled something. It sounded like she said, ‘Of all the incompetent...’”

  Tracy paused to draw a shuddering breath, and Jack walked back to her, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with an intensity that arrowed to her core. “And?
”

  “Well, I was trying to figure out who she could be talking about. It seemed unlikely she meant Mr. Rampart or the detectives. And when I thought about her reaction to the news that I hadn’t been killed, I just...I don’t know.”

  Jack angled his head to glare through the one-way glass at Mrs. Baxter.

  “I’m just speculating, of course, but I had the weirdest feeling come over me, this odd insight that she meant the shooter.” She rubbed the spot at her temple where her pulse was pounding, a throbbing headache building.

  Officer Grunnel stepped closer. “Are you sure that’s what she said?”

  “Well, no. Like I said, she was kind of mumbling.” Tracy glanced through the window to the interrogation room again. Mrs. Baxter continued to frown and tap her fingers restlessly on the tabletop. “But it sure sounded like that. I’m almost sure I heard her say ‘incompetent.’”

  Jack faced Grunnel. “Can we use this?”

  “Not officially. It would be considered hearsay. But I’ll let the detectives know what she heard, and perhaps they can use it to guide the conversation in new directions.” Officer Grunnel returned to the door and stuck his head into the hall. He glanced back at Tracy and Jack and held his hand up. “Wait here a moment.”

  The officer stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him, and Tracy chafed the goose bumps that had risen on her arms.

  “How are you holding up?” Jack asked, moving close and rubbing his wide palms along her arms. Rather than calm the jitters in her gut, his touch simply transformed the uneasy jangle. She flashed back to the last time he’d held her close—to the evening before, when he’d kissed the breath from her.

  “I’m all right.” She walked into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “This is all just so surreal. Could Cliff’s parents really be behind the attacks? Is it about money? I’ll gladly give them Cliff’s life insurance and savings. I don’t want it.”

  Rather than answer her rhetorical questions, Jack tucked her under his chin and rubbed her back in small circles. A calm sank into her slowly, lulled by his caress and the security of his arms around her. After a moment, he moved a hand to her cheek and angled her face up to his. His intent blazed in his eyes, even before he dipped his head.

  Heat curled through her blood, and she rose on her toes to meet his kiss. The hum of the busy police department beyond the closed door faded as she centered her attention on Jack. On his fingers threading through her hair. On his skillful lips possessing hers.

  “So, new plan of attack,” Ryan said as he burst through the door, then stopped short when he found his brother in a lip-lock.

  Tracy tensed and would have jerked out of the embrace if not for Jack’s firm grip cradling her skull with one hand and the small of her back with his other.

  Lifting his eyebrows, Ryan sent them an amused grin. “Should I come back later? Or perhaps rent you a hotel room?”

  Jack released Tracy and met his brother’s quip with a scowl. “Save the jokes. What’s the new plan?”

  “In light of what Tracy heard the missus say, we’re going to go fishing again with her but using new bait,” Ryan said, still eyeing his brother with a speculative gleam.

  Movement in her peripheral vision caught Tracy’s attention as Hunnicutt entered the interview room and took a seat at the table. “I’ve just talked with your husband and, well...I have one or two more questions for you, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Baxter gave Hunnicutt a peeved glare. “What now?”

  The Denver detective made a show of shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, you see...” He rubbed his temples and sighed.

  “What is it? What did my husband say?”

  Tracy stepped closer to the one-way glass to follow the exchange with rapt attention. She felt more than saw Jack step up behind her.

  In the next room, Hunnicutt bowed his head and groaned. “I tell you, ma’am, there are a lot of things about my job that I don’t like, but the two worst have to be making that house call to let someone know their loved one has died, and letting someone know a trusted friend or relative has betrayed them.”

  Irene flinched, and her face visibly paled. “What are you saying? What did my husband tell you?”

  Hunnicutt shifted awkwardly again and sent her a frown. “Before we get into what your husband is saying—” he paused and gave Mrs. Baxter an almost apologetic look “—is there anything else you’d like to tell me about Ms. McCain or the attacks on her?”

  Irene blinked rapidly and clutched her purse to her chest like a shield. “He’s blaming me, isn’t he?” Her face darkened. “That rat bastard... How dare he?” She raised a shaking hand to her throat. “I—I may have made the arrangements, b-but it was his idea.”

  A chill ran down Tracy’s spine. Had Hunnicutt just gotten a confession?

  Beside her, Tracy heard Ryan chuckle. “Brilliant.”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “Her husband’s being even more tight-lipped than she was. Hunnicutt never said her husband rolled over on her, she just assumed that from his little speech and his little uncomfortable act. He played on her guilty conscience...”

  “What was his idea?” Hunnicutt asked.

  “Hiring someone to get rid of her.” Irene’s expression soured, and she leaned toward Hunnicutt, clearly caught up in defending herself. “She’s the reason our Cliff was murdered. If the ungrateful bitch hadn’t left him, the car accident would never have happened, and he wouldn’t have been in that miserable prison where he was murdered. An inmate may have killed Cliff, but it was all Tracy’s fault...and she has to pay!” Irene’s deep, agitated breathing matched the thudding beats of Tracy’s heart as she stared through the one-way glass in disbelief.

  Hunnicutt nodded sympathetically and slid the picture of the gunman back toward her. “Okay. Is this the man you hired to get rid of Ms. McCain? Who is he?”

  The woman barely glanced at the sketch. “You’ll never find him. We hired him because he’s the best. He stays under the radar and always completes his assignment. He’s stealthy and thorough and very lethal.”

  “His name?” Hunnicutt repeated.

  Irene lifted a shoulder, her voice bolder now as if she were relieved to have the confession off her chest. “I don’t know. That’s part of how he operates. No one knows his name. Our meeting was arranged through...” She cleared her throat. “Mutual associates.”

  Tracy cut her glance to Jack, and his expression said his thoughts were where hers were. The connections to organized crime Jack had discovered through his digging into financial holdings and public records.

  “I simply think of him as The Wolf,” Irene said.

  “The wolf?” Hunnicutt repeated.

  “Well, look at him.” She flicked a finger toward the sketch. “Don’t you think it fits?”

  Hunnicutt didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes on Mrs. Baxter. “Can you have your...‘mutual friends’ arrange another meeting? To call off the hit? It would go a long way toward winning favor with the powers that be.”

  As if realizing for the first time that she had incriminated herself, Irene’s eyes widened, and she sat back in the chair, once again clutching her purse against her as if it could protect her. “I’ve said too much. I want my lawyer, and I want to cut a deal.”

  Hunnicutt’s chin dropped to his chest as if knowing he’d gotten all he’d get from Irene for the time being.

  “I’ll tell you what you want to know,” the woman added, “but I want a guarantee of no jail time.”

  “Bingo,” Ryan said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call to the Denver district attorney.” He exited the observation room, spilling light from the corridor into the dark space.

  Tracy shivered, and Jack enveloped her in his warm arms from behind, whispering into her ear. “We’ll get him, Tracy. I won’t rest until we catch the man who shot at you, and I promise that the bastard won’t get
near you again.”

  * * *

  “You won’t stop him. I can’t stop him.” Upon learning his wife had cracked, George Baxter had started pouring out his guts, as if competing to be more forthcoming and win the better plea deal. “The Wolf will not stop until Tracy is dead. I have no way to reach him, and since he wasn’t going to get the final payment until the job was done, he’s all the more motivated to finish his assignment.”

  His assignment. Jack’s gut churned. Meaning to murder Tracy and anyone else that got in his way, including little boys.

  He glanced to Tracy, who had her arms wrapped around her middle as if to hold herself together. “Come on, Tracy. Let’s get out of here.”

  She sent him an anxious look. “But they’re not finished questioning the Baxters.”

  “Ryan will fill us in. We know the worst of it. Let me take you home.” He held his hand out to her, and after a brief hesitation, she placed her cold fingers in his hand.

  Her icy fingers worried him, because they spoke to her mental state, the stress and fear she had to be experiencing. Once the shock of learning her in-laws were behind the attack on her had passed, she’d grown increasingly pale and distraught looking.

  Not that he could blame her. Knowing a professional assassin with connections to organized crime was gunning for her had shaken him to the marrow as well. And though Hunnicutt and Ryan had been grilling Irene and George Baxter for hours now, their story hadn’t changed. The Wolf was invisible, unreachable, in the wind. And he wouldn’t stop until he’d killed Tracy.

  Chapter 15

  Over my dead body. As he escorted Tracy out of the Denver police-department building and hailed a cab, Jack gritted his teeth. He swore silently to do whatever was necessary to keep Tracy safe. The Baxters might not know how to reach The Wolf and call him off, but he had faith in Ryan’s detective skills. He and his team at the Tulsa PD would find this ghost and bring him in. And until they did, Jack would protect his family.

  A jolt rippled through Jack when he realized that he included Tracy in that category. His family. She was Seth’s cousin, so that made her family of sorts, but...