by D'Ann Lindun
“They’ll catch you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “Just like last time.”
“That’s what I need you for. To keep them off me.” He sounded almost normal, not like a madman. The deceptive calm before the storm.
She lifted her chin in defiance. “I can’t help you.”
“You can and you will.” He moved to the screen door. His voice turned harsh. “Get up and move.”
“And if I say no you’re going to shoot me in cold blood?” She held her breath. Rueben had gone from juvenile pranks to petty crimes to robbery. He’d helped murder several armed guards, but would he harm her, someone he’d once loved?
He pointed the gun at her. “I killed two guards today. You think I won’t do you, too?”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she stood. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her toward the living room. “Get a change of clothes. Jeans. A coat. Spare socks. Clean panties.”
“For what?”
“A picnic. What do you think?” He released her and peered out the window. “Hurry up.”
She eyed her cell phone on the end table. Could she make it and dial 911 before he shot her? He spotted her looking and waved the gun again. “Try it. I dare you.”
“My clothes are in my bedroom.”
“Get them. I’m right behind you, so don’t try anything funny.” For emphasis, he placed the gun in the middle of her back and pressed hard. With stiff, jerky movements she walked down the hall to the room they’d once shared. When she automatically reached to turn on the light, he hit her hand with the butt of the gun. “No lights.”
She muffled her shriek of pain and wrapped her good hand around her damaged fingers.
“That’s just a tap to remind you I mean business.” He shifted from foot to foot and tugged on the collar of his bright orange jumpsuit. “You still have any of my clothes around here? I gotta get out of this monkey suit.”
“No.” Soon after their divorce she’d donated them to Goodwill.
His grin was evil. “No matter. I’ll steal some to get me by. When I get my money, I’ll buy whatever I want. Armani suits, Dom Perignon, hot women…”
“You won’t get away with this, Rueben.” She turned at her dresser and faced him. “Go now and leave me out of it.”
“Shut up and get your stuff. Hurry up.”
Taking as much time as she could without being obvious she filled a duffle bag. “Do I need toiletries?”
“Yeah, he said his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Bring nail polish, too.”
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not used to going on the lam.”
“Quit messing around,” he ordered. “Get your clothes and let’s go.”
“I’m not stalling.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the giveaway quiver in her voice.
He moved close, pinning her against the dresser. His thighs touched hers and his rancid odor gagged her. She shoved his chest. “Get off me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” He tucked an unruly curl behind her ear.
Panic bubbled in her stomach, and she slapped his hand away. “Stop it. We’re divorced.”
“Not in the eyes of the church.” He chuckled. “Remember?”
“No.”
“Liar.” With a grunt, he picked up her bag and herded her down the hall. “Let’s move before they corner me.”
“If you did kill a marshal, they’ll track you to hell and back.” Isabella ducked into the bathroom and scooped a few things into the duffle. “There’ll be nowhere on this earth you can hide where they won’t find you.”
He sneered over her shoulder into the mirror. “Wanna bet?”
“Let me by.” Her heart raced so hard she feared it would jump out of her throat, but she faked a calm demeanor. Rueben used to thrive on her fear. She doubted that had changed.
For a minute, she didn’t think he would let her go, but he finally stepped back. “Be sure you bring some of that lavender lotion I like. For later. Right now, I need to get out of town. What do you drive?”
“A Jeep.”
“Perfect.” He held the duffle and gun with one hand took her upper arm with the other. “You’re going to take me to the gas station where we’re going to take a withdrawal from the ATM machine.”
She tried to lie. “I don’t have any money in the bank.”
“That’s too bad, because if you don’t have any cash I don’t need you around.” Rueben was capable of killing in cold blood. A cold shiver ran down her back and turned her toes icy.
“I might have a couple hundred dollars in checking.”
“I thought you’d see things my way.” He kicked open the door and shoved her through it.
~*~
“I’m sending you after a fugitive.”
“I’m listening.” U.S. Deputy Marshal, Shane Catlin cocked a hip against his desk as his boss, Chief Deputy Winston Bustamante, laid out the details.
“Two days ago, two prisoners named Rueben Gonzalez and Waydell Spencer were being transported from Caňon City to Supermax when their vehicle careened off a remote mountain road and wrecked. One guard was killed on impact; the other was shot with his own gun by one of the suspects.”
“Which one killed the guard?”
The chief deputy adjusted a picture of his wife. “We don’t know. They’re equally dangerous.”
Shane fiddled with the badge clipped to his belt. “Any idea where they went?”
“We think Black Mountain, which is a dot on the Western Slope. Gonzalez’s ex-wife still lives there and the locals have informed us she’s missing. We’re not certain Spencer’s with him, or took off another direction. He has no connection to the area.”
“Did Gonzalez’s wife go on the run with him?”
“Possible, but not likely. She divorced him almost immediately after he went to prison. By all accounts she’s a stand-up citizen. A western writer.”
Bustamante shoved a picture across the desk. “This is her. Isabella Califano.”
Shane stared at an image of a dark-haired woman with brandy colored eyes and lush lips. Slim, long legs. Something stirred his blood as he committed her picture to memory.
Startled, he banished the tingle.
Attractive, yes. But it didn’t matter what Isabella Califano looked like. Another woman couldn’t interest him. Not already. Not Ever. The idea was ludicrous.
Just because he was a man, and a pretty woman stirred his blood didn’t mean a thing.
He forced his attention back to his boss. “What was he in for?”
Winston flipped through a folder. “Five years ago, Gonzalez, another man named Gary McCurdy, along with three others, held up an armored car. Three of the gang were killed, but Reuben Gonzalez and Gary McCurdy escaped with the money. They were both caught outside of Black Mountain, but not before they hid the money. We believe it’s stashed in the mountains nearby.”
Shane stared out the window toward the distant mountains. “We believe Gonzalez and McCurdy had enough time to hide the loot until they could get back for it? Instead, they were captured? The money’s still stashed?”
“That’s the theory,” Winston agreed.
“Locals seen any sign of Gonzalez this time around?”
“No.” Winston pointed to a Colorado state map on the wall. He tapped a spot in the mountains. “Black Mountain is here. It’s a tiny town, population less than one thousand. The nearest town isn’t much bigger and they’re understaffed and under budgeted.”
“Why me, boss? I’m still working on the Fullerton trial.” Shane named the high-profile murder trial where he’d been assigned guard duty.
“I’ll have Denton take over for you.” Winston pointed to a Tombstone movie poster on his wall. “See those guys? I think this case might mean horses, and you’re the only cowboy I’ve got on staff. That country is too rough for Jeeps or even ATVs in some places.”
“I’m to take Wrangler and Gunner with me?”
Winston nodded. “I
think you’re going to need them. The burro, too. We’ll pay for their use, of course.”
A little dance of excitement filled Shane. He’d tracked plenty of fugitives, but he’d never gone after one on horseback before. “I can leave in a couple hours.”
“Good.” Winston frowned a little. “Be careful, Shane. This one’s dangerous as hell.”
He fought off the onslaught of pain his boss’ words brought. “Will do. Thanks.”
~*~
Shane loaded Wrangler, Gunner and Donquita in their trailer, climbed into his truck and headed west on I-70 out of Denver. He’d studied a map around Black Mountain, specifically abandoned mines, and had a couple of places in mind to search for Reuben Gonzalez.
About five hours later, he pulled his rig into a gas station in Black Mountain and lined up with the gas pumps. While the tank filled, he watched a family of tourists. The harried mom, dad and their tired, cranky brood fussed at each other as they loaded up on snacks.
Shane’s gut clenched. If only he and Ellie had been able to have a family, he might not be so alone now. But they never had been able to conceive a baby. He couldn’t wait to get into the solitude of the mountains where he could escape the guilt that chased him like a shadow.
Finally, to his great relief, the family loaded into their minivan and drove away. Shane walked inside the station to pay. Some music he didn’t recognize pounded his ears and he frowned as he sized up the clerk behind the counter. A skinny teenage kid with a shadow of a goatee. Shane peeled off a few bills and handed them over. “Nice day.”
“Yeah.” The clerk sighed. “Too good to be stuck in here.”
“Not too much excitement around here I imagine,” Shane commented idly.
“Nope.”
Shane opened a can of pop. “What about that robbery a few years back? That ought to have shaken things up a bit.”
The clerk’s eyes became guarded. “You a cop?”
“Nah.” Shane drank his pop. “Just curious.”
“You and every other tourist who comes through here. We oughta print a flier to hand out. Read all about our own local Butch and Sundance.” The kid sat on the stool behind the counter and looked out the window. “The guy who did it is in the pen. The rumor is they stashed the haul up there—” he pointed toward the mountain with his chin “—before they got caught.”
“I heard one of them spent some of it and that’s what led the cops to him.” Shane fought to act impartial, almost disinterested. The last thing he needed was anybody finding out what he was up to.
The kid shook his greasy head. “Nope, that ain’t right. A guy named Trucker MacNamara started spending heavy dough, spreading the rumor he found it. Turned out his grandmother died and left him some major change.”
“Any idea where the millions might be hidden?” Shane opened a pack of beef jerky and bit off a piece.
The kid’s eyes sharpened. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“You’re awfully nosy for just a tourist.” The kid took a long look at Shane’s truck with a camper and horse trailer attached. Then turned his attention to the two six packs of soda and four bags of ice Shane had placed on the counter. “I think you’re on a treasure hunt.”
“I’m just camping for a few days.” Shane bit off another chunk of jerky and chewed the spicy beef. “Any suggestions for a few days of good riding and fishing?”
“You didn’t figure that out before you headed out?”
“I like to wing it. Just take off and see where I land.” Shane took a topography map from a rack near the register and laid it on the counter. “Guess I might need this.”
The kid rang him up, and handed back Shane’s change. “You might try Bobcat creek. There are a lot of trails leading from one trailhead. Go up Highway 42 about a mile where you will see the turnoff to the left. Drive another four or five miles. The trails start there. A creek runs through there with some good trout fishing.”
“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.” Shane picked up his purchases and headed toward his truck. He had a stop to make first—at the home of Isabella Califano.
CHAPTER TWO
Shane sat across from Sheriff Tom Blackmore, who poured them each a cup of coffee, handed one to Shane and then settled into his swivel chair. “Like I told your supervisor, we’re understaffed in a big county. Every man I have available is searching for Gonzalez.”
“That’s why I’m here, too.” Shane sipped the too-stout coffee. “I need anything you’ve got on this guy.”
“Not much.” The sheriff pushed a thin manila file across his desk. “We helped your guys take down Gonzalez and McCurdy the first time, but there’s not going to be anything in there you don’t already have.”
“Any idea where Gonzalez might’ve headed?”
Blackmore motioned toward the snowcapped mountains in the distance with his thumb. “Could be anywhere out there, Marshal.”
Shane followed the direction of his thumb. “Big area.”
“No joke.” Blackmore leaned back in his chair. “A lot of people have gone on a treasure hunt for the missing money. There’s a large reward tied to its recovery.”
Shane remembered the pretty brunette he’d seen in the photo. Gonzalez’s wife. “What about the women? Any chance they have any part in all of this? Could Gonzalez’s wife have gone with him willingly?”
“No. Isabella’s straight-up honest. So is Mesa McCurdy. Those women have been through hell, thanks to the men in their family. We didn’t warn either of them about the break-out because we wanted to see if they made any funny moves. And, as expected, they haven’t.”
“I’m going to visit with Isabella Gonzalez,” Shane said. “You’ll send a deputy to check on the other lady, I presume?”
“Already done it,” Blackmore said.
“Good, keep her safe,” Shane said.
“Will do.” They stood and shook hands. “Keep in touch,” Blackmore said.
Shane touched the brim of his hat and walked out of the sheriff’s office.
~*~
Isabella Califano lived in a small adobe bungalow at the end of a paved road. By all appearances, it seemed like a quiet, peaceful place. Willow trees swayed in a gentle breeze and the sweet scent of roses filled Shane’s nostrils. The closest house stood more than a half mile away with a field between them.
Shane stepped out of his truck and approached the front door, hand on his unsnapped holster. He rapped with his knuckles and the door swung open with a little squeak. “Hello?”
No one answered.
With his palm, Shane pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Anyone home?”
Only silence.
The living room was neat, clean and organized. He ran a finger over the end table. Not a speck of dust in sight. A computer was on sleep and he touched a key. A manuscript opened, waiting for someone to add words.
The kitchen told a different story. A pan of burritos sat on the stovetop, the edges curling up, dry and crusty. A plate with a half-eaten meal sat on the table along with a glass of flat cola. Isabella, or someone else had left here in a hurry.
He checked the rest of the house. Neat as a pin. Not a thing out of place he could see. No sign of a man anywhere. Where was Isabella? What made her run out of her home, leaving her dinner half-eaten? Rueben Gonzalez’s hostage? Or something else? Had she planned to meet him all along?
“Hello? Bella? You here?” someone called from the living room.
Shane stepped out of the hallway. A pretty woman with long reddish-brown hair stood in the middle of the room, looking around. He spoke. “She doesn’t seem to be here.”
The woman screamed and turned to flee.
Shane rushed after her and grabbed her arm. “Relax. I’m a U.S. Marshal.” He reached for his badge and showed it to her. “See? Deputy Shane Catlin. You’re safe.”
She licked her dry lips. “What do you want?”
“I’m trying to find Isabella Califano.” He thought of the pictu
re Winston had shown him. “Are you related?”
After a long pause, she spoke. “I’m Mesa McCurdy. I came to see if Bella was okay.”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Shane suddenly put the pieces together. “Your father is Gary McCurdy. The second surviving convict’s daughter.”
Pain flashed across her pretty face. “Yes.”
“Do you know where Miz Gonzalez might be?” Shane re-clipped his badge to his belt.
She gave him a look that clearly showed she thought him dumb. “No.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Last Sunday at church.” She glanced around the empty house as if her friend might be hiding behind the sofa.
“We think Reuben Gonzalez may have come here,” Shane said.
“I just found out. That’s why I’m here. Dear God.” She fell onto the sofa. “Poor Bella—” When Mesa looked his direction her eyes were filled with despair. “Rueben’s violent, Marshal Catlin. If you know his history at all, you know that.”
“When were you made aware he escaped?”
Her face paled. “Just a little while ago when a deputy came by to inform me, and to also interrogate me again.” Bitterness filled her voice.
“Sheriff Blackmore might have his reasons, but family members and victims were usually notified immediately if a con escaped. Gonzalez had been loose twenty-four hours. Somebody had dropped the ball on this one. “The sheriff’s office interviewed you?”
“Yes,” Mesa said. “But I don’t know anything. I swear it.”
Shane touched the edge of a brown velvet throw pillow. “Could Isabella just taken off on her own? Gone on a mini vacation?” And left her half-eaten meal on the table? By the looks of the rest of the house, no. She didn’t seem to be the type to leave behind a mess.
“Absolutely not.” Mesa sounded positive. “There’s no way Bella would have left without saying something to someone. That’s why I’m here, as a matter of fact. After the sheriff came by, I called her. When she didn’t answer her phone, I got worried and came over to check on her.”