Courting Callie

by Lynn Erickson

  “Can’t get away with killing a cop. Not for long.”

  “So…so he threatened Joey,” she said, and Mase nodded again. Abruptly, Callie’s eyes widened. “You can’t testify,” she said with authority. “Absolutely not.”

  But he only laughed humorlessly. “You bet your life I’m going to testify. I’m going to nail those creeps to the wall.”

  Callie was aghast. “But…but Joey. Joey…”

  “Joey is just fine here. He’s perfectly safe. Other than my old boss and Reese Hatcher, no one knows he’s here. Not even my own parents know.”

  “But…oh, Lordy, what if I was followed when I left Denver with Joey that morning? What if…?”

  “You weren’t,” Mase said with conviction. “Callie, I followed you myself for damn near fifty miles, and no one was on your tail.”

  “You…you’re sure?”

  “Yes, Callie, I’m sure.”

  By dinner everyone who needed to know about Mase’s predicament had been told. It amazed Callie that they all believed he was doing the right thing by testifying. They even patted him on the back. He was a hero. Even more amazing to her was that no one faulted him in the least for keeping his troubles secret. Everyone seemed to understand.

  Everyone but her.

  She found Mase on the porch after dinner, which she’d skipped, complaining of a headache. It hurt so terribly to be close to him, her heart beating miserably, her soul still craving him despite his treachery. She had to talk to him, though. She couldn’t let him go without trying one last time to talk some sense into him.

  They stood face-to-face in the gathering darkness, and Callie steeled herself against the heady effect. “Don’t testify,” she begged. “For Joey’s sake, don’t do it, Mase.”

  “Callie,” he said, and his voice was a caress to her ears, “don’t you see? I could never live with myself if I ran from this.”

  “But…”

  He reached out and put a silencing finger against her lips. “What kind of an example would I be for Joey if I gave in to my fears?”

  She couldn’t move. His hand was on her chin now, tilting it up, and when he spoke, the tone of his voice was soft, intimate.

  “Everything will be okay,” he said, and he smiled a little.

  Callie stiffened and swatted his hand away. “Oh, you almost had me there,” she said. “You just about had me, LeBow. But I’m not fooled for long. You know what you are?”

  Mase sighed. “No. But I bet you’re going to tell me.”

  “Darn tootin’,” she said hotly. “You, Mase LeBow, are just like every guy I’ve ever met. A loser.” With that, Callie turned on her heel and stomped away.

  * * *

  MASE CROSSED THE WYOMING state line and drove into Colorado, trying to keep his mind on the upcoming ordeal on the witness stand. He’d been prepped thoroughly by the D.A. in Denver, gone over and over his testimony for months in mock sessions. And the D.A. himself had posed dozens of questions that Sleazebag, Metcalf’s attorney, was no doubt going to ask in cross-examination. The D.A. felt they’d covered all the bases, though Mase was betting the man had to be rattled right now that his star witness had quit the police force. Sleazebag had to know, also, and he’d somehow use the knowledge in his cross-examination.

  Mase steered along the interstate, following the jutting line of foothills to the west, and planned his answers to the inevitable questions.

  “So, Detective LeBow,” Sleazebag would say, “or should I call you Mr. LeBow, now that you’ve left the department?”

  “Mr. LeBow will do, sir,” Mase would answer, oh-so-polite, unruffled.

  Then the attorney would, of course, ask why Mase had quit. The D.A. would leap to his feet, object on the grounds of irrelevancy, but the judge would allow the question. Heck, Mase had been in enough courtrooms during his years as a homicide detective to know the drill by heart.

  What would he answer? The truth, naturally. He’d tell it exactly like it was, that he was fed up. Maybe he’d even get in a shot at Metcalf. “It’s the rich crooks like Richard Metcalf, thinking they can get away with murder, who were the final straw.”

  Sleazebag would go ape, but it would be too late. The jury would have heard. And how could they not agree?

  Mase tried to map it all out as he passed Fort Collins and headed south toward Denver.

  He forced his mind to stay on the issue at hand, and yet Callie was always there, lurking in the shadowed corners of his brain. It was as if she’d always been there. Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her at the auction. Was that possible? Love at first sight?

  Did he love her?

  Mase didn’t know. He loved everything about her. There was no denying that. And there was no denying the way they’d fit together in that hayloft. But he’d blown it. He sure as hell had made one big mess of their relationship.

  He tried hard to recall the expressions on Callie’s face the last time he’d seen her. Wounded. Disappointed. Worried. He saw Joey, too, holding Callie’s hand out in the drive. His son wasn’t stupid, and he’d been pouting a little, no doubt sensing the strain between his father and his new friend Callie. Two people the child…loved. But everyone else had been upbeat, wishing Mase luck, telling him to hurry back, as if the Someday Ranch were his home now.

  It felt like home. Everything about the place, including Callie, was good for him. And yet he’d taken everyone’s trust, used everyone, and betrayed them all. The curious thing was that no one blamed him. No one but Callie. And there was not a damn thing he could do to remedy that.

  He got off I-25 on University in Denver and headed toward his house. If all went as planned, he might be called to the witness stand as early as tomorrow. The jury had been selected last week. The attorneys would make their opening statements, and then the D.A. would call Mase to the stand. That was the plan, anyway. Mase had been told he could be on the stand for one to two days. It was a critical time for Joey. But once Mase was done testifying, the danger would be over.

  He could hardly wait. A couple of days.

  Joey was safe, though, in good hands, well hidden from those creeps. It was all going to work out. And soon—three days, four?—Mase would be driving back to the ranch to get Joey.

  And then what? He was jobless. But worse, far worse, he’d lost Callie. The best damn thing that had happened to him since Amy’s death, and he’d single-handedly screwed it up.

  He pulled into his drive, turned the car off and stretched. One day at a time, Mase told himself. Take each day as it comes.

  And maybe, just maybe, there was a little magic left for him at the Someday Ranch.

  Hey, he could always hope, couldn’t he?

  * * *

  CALLIE SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in the middle of the night, her pajamas soaked, her breath shallow, and she saw them as clear as day—the tire tracks. Those curious tire tracks in the mud on the abandoned county road. Tracks that never should have been there. And, she suddenly realized, a knife of fear plunging into her heart, they’d been made in the mud after the gymkhana was long over. Who had made them? And why on earth was she so darn scared?

  Joey, she thought suddenly. Did it have something to do with Joey?

  She rushed to the window, pulled open the curtain and stared at the bunkhouses. All was quiet.

  It’s okay, she told herself, Joey is fine.

  Besides, Sylvia was sleeping next door to him. And Hal and Jarod and James were in the next room. Everything
was perfectly all right, she thought. So why was her heart still beating furiously?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IT WAS SYLVIA WHO discovered that Joey was gone. At 7:00 a.m. she stood in the bunkhouse, hands on hips, and grumbled out loud. “Darn kid. He knows he’s not supposed to leave here till I come to get him up. Rules are rules and they’ve got to be obeyed.”

  She did the obvious thing then, went next door to the girls’ quarters and checked Rebecca’s room.

  “Have you seen Joey this morning?” she asked Rebecca, who was still in bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

  But the little girl only shook her tousled head.

  “Well, you get on up now, honey,” Sylvia said, “and don’t forget to brush your teeth. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Sylvia searched the rest of the girls’ bunkhouse, poking her head in Marianne’s room, then Linda’s, but no one had seen the little boy. She was getting more annoyed by the second. Plus it was raining out. He’d better not be with the horses, she thought as she fetched a jacket from her own room. Most likely, though, he’d gone to the main house, breakfast on his mind.

  She tromped through the rain and across the muddy yard to the house, talking to herself the whole way, and entered through the kitchen door. “Joey? You little devil. You in here?”

  Callie had just come down the stairs when she heard Sylvia’s voice. “Did I hear you calling for Joey?” she asked as she entered the kitchen.

  “I sure as blazes am,” Sylvia said. “He just up and disappeared....”

  “That’s not at all like Joey,” Callie said, “and in this rain.” She cocked her head, meeting Sylvia’s gaze, and a moment of uncertainty passed between the two women.

  “You don’t suppose he went out to see the horses…?” Sylvia began.

  But Callie was no longer listening. It was as if an icy hand had just squeezed her heart. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “Oh, my God.”

  By eight the place was a madhouse. Everyone was out in the cold, slashing rain searching for Joey, calling his name, checking every nook and cranny in the house, the barn, the bunkhouses, the riding ring, everywhere. Callie searched as hard as anyone, but in her heart she knew: Joey had been kidnapped.

  At nine Tom telephoned Reese Hatcher, who said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. And then it was Callie’s job to call Mase. It was the hardest call she’d ever made. “Oh, Mom,” she whispered to Liz, who was sitting next to her on the edge of the couch, “what am I going to say to him?”

  But Liz could only shake her head. There were no right words for a time like this.

  Callie dialed his beeper, her fingers numb and shaking. He’d see the number of the ranch and call back immediately. She closed her eyes and tried to picture him. Was he at the courthouse already? On his way there? How long before he could get to a phone? Or maybe he was carrying his pager with him.

  What was she going to say?

  They waited, still sitting on the edge of the couch. A minute passed. It seemed more like an hour. Her mind churned frantically, searching for some way to tell Mase his son was missing, but nothing came to her. At one point she spun around to Liz and cried, “Why didn’t I have Joey sleep upstairs in a guest room? Why?”

  Another minute dragged by.

  It was nearly five minutes before the phone in her lap rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh, God,” she sobbed, and she managed to press the talk button.

  It was him.

  “Callie…?” he began.

  But she cut him off, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Joey’s gone. Mase, he’s gone.”

  There was a long pause, a lifetime of seconds dragging by, and she could feel his horror through the many miles that separated them. He finally spoke, but all he could say was “You’re sure? He couldn’t be…?”

  “He’s gone,” Callie repeated, a whisper torn from her throat. She bit her lower lip and held back tears. Liz clutched her free hand.

  Another moment of torturous silence followed. Then Mase breathed, “Berry. Hank Berry. It can’t be anyone else.”

  “Oh, Mase,” she cried, “how did he find Joey? How…”

  “I don’t know. God, I don’t know. Have you called Hatcher?”

  “Yes. He’ll be here any minute. Oh, Mase, oh, Lord…”

  “I know, I know. Just hold on, Callie. I’ll be there as fast as I can. I’ll fly up to Casper, rent a car. It will be okay,” he said, but there was no conviction in the harsh rasp of his voice.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s not you who should be sorry,” he said painfully. “This is my fault.” And then he hung up.

  Reese was the one who found the note. It had been left next to Joey’s bed, and no one had noticed. It was typed on plain white paper, and it read, “We will return the boy safely after the trial if your testimony is satisfactory.”

  Reese picked the note up by the corner and put it in a plastic bag. “This goes to the lab,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  Then they all sat in the living room while the sheriff asked dozens of questions. Questions and questions and more stupid police questions. They should be out looking for Joey. Something, Callie thought. Anything but sitting here.

  She did remember to tell Reese about the peculiar tire tracks on the abandoned county road. She hadn’t thought he would find much significance in her story, but surprisingly, he wanted to drive straight there.

  “What are you thinking?” Tom asked the sheriff.

  “It’s like this,” Hatcher said, finally putting away his notebook and rising. “There’s one decent road out of here, the Shoshone Highway. Now, if it were me who snatched the boy, I sure wouldn’t count on taking that road. How would I know someone wouldn’t call the police, who’d put up a blockade before I could reach the interstate? Now, as I see it, this Hitman character, or whoever it is who’s got Joey LeBow, he woulda scouted the area. If he’s got a map, he’s gonna see that old county road on it.”

  “But it’s impassable,” Tom said, frowning. “I’m sure that up in the hills there’s no way a vehicle is going to get through. Heck, last time I was that far along the thing, there were places where the old roadbed had literally fallen away into the canyon. I don’t see how this man…”

  But Hatcher put up a hand. “He don’t know that, now, does he? Not unless he drove all of it, which I doubt.”

  Callie cocked her head. “But the mud, Reese? No one in his right mind would try that road.”

  “You wouldn’t, Miss Callie, and Tom and I wouldn’t be that dumb. But Mase told me this guy’s a dude, a real city boy. And we all know they ain’t got much sense. Now, let’s go give it a look-see.”

  Callie and Jarod rode with the sheriff, and Tom and Liz followed in the pickup truck. The whole way out, Reese talked on the radio, instructing Donna to call for a county-wide net to be set up. Then he radioed the state police and requested the same. He was assured every road in eastern Wyoming would be covered, and the state police would contact the Colorado highway patrol and put them on the alert, too. The photo of Hank Berry would be faxed to all police headquarters, though no one had a picture of Joey.

  “When Mase gets here,” Callie said, “he’ll have one. In his wallet. Something.”

  It occurred to her, as it must have occurred to everyone, that whoever had Joey could be miles and miles away by now. In Nebraska, for goodness’ sake, or even Montana. She only prayed he wasn’t too far, that maybe he hadn’t
taken Joey till just before dawn, when the dogs were still inside and Sylvia was dead to the world.

  Stop it, Callie thought. None of it mattered now. Joey was all that counted. Getting Mase’s son back. Unharmed.

  She pictured Mase. Alone, so alone right now. Oh, Mase, she thought, hurry and get here. Hurry.

  She kept an image of Mase in her mind’s eye. But she didn’t dare try to envision Joey. She was too terrified of what she might see.

  * * *

  MASE HAD SPOKEN to Callie on his cell phone just as he’d been searching for a parking spot at the courthouse. His very first instinct was to control the fear and think everything out. His stomach twisting into a thousand knots, he sped home and grabbed a change of clothes—he was in his court garb of suit and tie. He also snatched up the extra cell phone battery, everything he could think up.

  His gun. Two spare clips of ammo. And his badge. He’d never get on a flight without his police credentials.

  Think, think, he commanded himself as he stood in his bedroom, his heart racing. Was he forgetting anything?

  His folks. Damn. It ran through his head that he should call them, but he’d spoken to them just last night when he’d gotten in, and they didn’t need to know about this. Not yet, anyway.

  He used the cell phone while he drove and got a booking on a noon commuter flight to Casper. And then he went straight back to the courthouse, where the first person he found was the D.A. He gave Denver’s number-one lawyer a thumbnail description of what had gone down.

  “You go and find your son, Mase,” the D.A. told him. “You can testify later. It doesn’t matter. If there’s anything I can do on this end, call in some federal help as soon as the law allows—anything—you just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” Mase muttered, distracted.

  Then he located his boss, who began the litany of how Mase’s job was still available and they all missed him and…

  “They got Joey,” Mase said tightly, and he had to go through the same spiel as he had with the D.A.