Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

  I don’t have much time. The Bar E’s tunnel entrance is dead ahead!

  “When it’s your turn to die, I’ll just think of Wyatt, think of the gold and shove you down, too,” Kimberly said matter-of-factly. “Nothing personal.”

  “I do consider it personal. Very personal.”

  Kimberly gave her a sad little smile. “It doesn’t matter. Because I’ll kill you as easily as I killed Morgan.”

  “Think again, bitch,” Caro hissed. And deliberately rolled the truck.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sunday, midmorning

  “THEY’VE DISAPPEARED, I tell you! Come in, Sheriff! Where in blue blazes are you? Over?”

  The police radio on Wyatt’s belt squawked with static as Catfish’s angry voice boomed out. The noise was so loud his gelding jumped. Wyatt steadied the horse with one hand, turning down the radio with the other.

  “Bodine here,” he said, reining the gelding in. “What’s up, Catfish?”

  “I’ll tell you what the hell’s up! My dander! I’m a retired man. I’m too damn old to be tracking down young fools like you. I’m supposed to be working Boothill, and here I am at your office. Then I get stuck doing dispatch duty when Kimberly doesn’t show up—after she calls Jamie and tells him to go home! So you get your behind over here and relieve me, because my dispatching days are over. Or find that forensic lady and tell her.”

  The tirade was followed by several generic curses, a few specific expletives and Catfish’s feelings on outsiders who got themselves on the city payroll and didn’t even have the courtesy to pitch in when an extra hand was needed. Wyatt interrupted.

  “Wait a minute. Caro Hartlan isn’t around?” He had a bad feeling about this, a gut instinct that had never failed him.

  “Sure as cow patties smell, she ain’t here!”

  “Then where is she?”

  “How in the hell should I know? I dropped her off this morning and ain’t seen her since. She’s not at the Court House. No one at the motel’s seen her. She ain’t at your ranch—”

  “Did you check with Kimberly?” Wyatt asked abruptly.

  “I told you—she hasn’t shown up! Don’t know where she is. I even tried the Bar E. And Hugh’s gone—or he’s not answering his phone. Seems like them three have dropped off the face of the earth!”

  “I know.” Wyatt turned the volume higher, unwilling to miss a word. “Have you called around town?”

  “No, I’m a doddering old fool who isn’t smart enough to think of that,” was the sarcastic answer. “You going deaf, Sheriff?”

  “No… but where could they be?”

  “Danged if I know.” Catfish started swearing again, only this time he swore as only an old miner could swear, and over the air, no less. That worried Wyatt even more. Because when Catfish swore so foully, that wasn’t anger. That was fear.

  “You’re worried,” Wyatt said in a flat voice.

  “’Course I’m worried! First Morgan, then the doc. Wherever she went, it was important. Or maybe… maybe dangerous. And Kim’s supposed to be looking for Morgan, not disappearing herself!” The old voice shook. “What are we going to do, Sheriff?”

  “Look for them.”

  “But where? I’ve tried every place in town!”

  Wyatt racked his brain. Where was his brother? Kimberly? And the woman he loved?

  The woman he loved…

  That thought astounded him. He’d never truly been in love. He’d felt lust, yes, but those impulses he could, and did, control. But in love? Was this fierce desire to protect and possess, this fierce anger at those who threatened the object of his every waking thought, love?

  This was a powerful craving greater than the affection he felt for his family and friends. This was a white hot fire that threatened to engulf him with desperation and a deadly, killing fury.

  “Sheriff? Wyatt, you there?” Catfish asked.

  “Wait. I’m thinking.” If anything happened to Caro, there would be hell to pay. If he lost his heart, he’d gladly trade his conscience for revenge.

  Wyatt took in a deep breath. He put aside thoughts of love and family and Caro and justice. He put away everything but the cold, deadly side of him, the ability to think like a criminal. And he played back every single aspect of the crime, every minute detail since he’d first seen Caro Hartlan standing over the skeleton at Boothill.

  Then he played it back again. And again. Until finally it hit him.

  The vultures.

  Turkey vultures were like most scavengers, wary and extremely nervous. They didn’t circle around the strong and living, only the dying or freshly dead. So why were they circling over a hole with a picked-clean skeleton and a healthy young woman?

  Wyatt’s brow furrowed as he remembered Caro’s words. “Think back, Sheriff. Think about Kimberly’s appearance when you pulled her out of the shaft. Think about the way she smelled.” And he had. Her blouse was fresh and she smelled of cologne, not guano.

  There was more he remembered. Kimberly hadn’t stayed at the clinic. She’d gone right home to bed and had sworn to both Hugh and him that she’d be fit for work the next morning. Wyatt felt his blood run cold.

  The vultures hadn’t been circling over Kimberly! They’d been circling over the only person missing at that time. Morgan.

  Wyatt’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive, flooding his body with strength. He keyed the microphone button. “Morgan’s in the mine.”

  “In the—?”

  “The mine, the mine! It’s always been the mine! Call the state police. I want some backup out at the Silver Dollar, and I want it now. Next, call Jamie to relieve you. Then call Luciano, and the two of you meet the police out at the entrance to the mine.”

  “Got it.”

  “Have Luciano send some men to check out all the official buildings. Not just the sheriff’s office, but the town hall and go through the Old Court House again. Morgan’s at the mine, but I doubt Kimberly or Caro are there. Ask the Bar E hands to search their pastures. Are you getting all this?”

  “Writin’ it down, Sheriff. Keep a-going.”

  “Make sure you notify the doctor on call at the clinic before you leave my office. I have a feeling we’re in for trouble.”

  A pause, then, “What about me, Sheriff? What do I do after I’m relieved?”

  “Go to the motel. Wait for Marta to get back. Maybe she can shed some light on Caro’s whereabouts. If I need to reach you, I’ll call you there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  “Pray.”

  Morgan drove the gelding hard, cutting corners and taking the shortest route possible to The Silver Dollar Mine. The good-natured animal had long ago stopped being good-natured. His coat was lathered with sweat, and he snorted his annoyance. Wyatt didn’t pull up. The gelding’s Arabian blood was holding true. Like generations of Arabians before him, the animal had reserves left, despite the distance already traveled, the heat and the instinctive desire to rest when danger wasn’t present. But at his rider’s relentless urging, he ran even faster.

  Wyatt felt the horse tremble, and yet he increased his speed. It didn’t matter. If those he loved were dead, dead through his own stupidity and fear, nothing mattered anymore. Not his horse, not his ranch…

  Nothing.

  His mind raced even faster than the gelding’s feet. And then he was there.

  The Silver Dollar Mine.

  He dismounted, then tethered his horse quickly. He pulled out a flashlight, grabbed his canteen, headed for the entrance. He had to climb to where they’d found Kimberly, where she’d lured them away from Morgan, and he had to do it without help. Because he was alone. He had always been alone, but that didn’t matter. He knew that he could be a formidable force, a dangerous force. He knew he’d find his brother, just like he knew he’d find Caro Hartlan, the woman he loved. What he didn’t know was whether he’d find them dead or alive.

  “DAMN YOU!” Kimberly scr
eamed in rage. Then she screamed in terror as the truck jerked and flipped completely over.

  Caro felt her teeth go almost through her bottom lip as the vehicle rolled—rolled so hard that the centrifugal force threw Kimberly right out the open window. Caro saw the other woman go flying through the air before she lost all her bearings as the truck flipped over one, two, three more times.

  You country girls don’t stand a chance against us roadrally, rush-hour, high-speed city drivers, Kimberly. I’ll be walking away from this one, no doubt about it, Caro thought with triumph as the truck jerked hard one last time, then landed on the driver’s side, its wheels still spinning, the engine still running.

  Caro spit out the sand and blood in her mouth and reached for the clasp of her seat belt. In seconds she was free, upright and out of the truck, her eyes already scanning for Kimberly, her heart praying that the crash had immobilized her enemy.

  Her prayers went unanswered. Kimberly was alert and moving. She was on the other side of the truck, already on her hands and knees in a soft patch of sand that must have absorbed much of her body’s impact.

  Please, Lord, don’t let her still have that gun. If she doesn’t, I can take her down. Please, please, please.

  That prayer went unanswered, too. Caro saw Kimberly push up to her knees and brush the sand out of her face. Then she brushed the sand off the gun lying beside her. Caro’s only advantage was that Kimberly was on the far side of the tunnel opening, while Caro was between the truck and the near side.

  Caro didn’t bother taking any more time to pray or, for that matter, curse. She ran for the tunnel as if her life depended on it.

  Which it did.

  The Bar E entrance to the system of caves and mines was hidden by natural vegetation and rock formations. But as Caro slipped inside, she saw that the terrain of the interior was graded, flat, easy to walk on. It had obviously been recently worked.

  Thank goodness for small miracles, she thought as she ran over the smooth walkway.

  And damn them, too! she added as lights came flooding on. The hum of electricity filled the cave. Caro frantically searched for a place to conceal herself, but the best she could do was duck around a curve of the passageway.

  “There’s no place to hide!” Kimberly called out. “I know this cave like I know my own face. I’ll find you sooner or later.”

  It’ll have to be later, Caro silently vowed. She continued running down the passageway, hoping the single tunnel would branch out soon.

  “Let’s talk!” Kimberly yelled. Caro noted that Kimberly sounded farther away and her voice was ragged. Maybe she hadn’t walked away scratch-free from the truck, after all. Caro smiled grimly, even as she went on running as fast as she could. Gun or no gun, she had the upper hand now—as long as the lights stayed on.

  But sooner or later Kimberly would figure that out, too. And with the lights off, Caro would be at a disadvantage. She didn’t know the mine at all, didn’t have a flashlight, didn’t have any weapon, except her brain. And her senses.

  Finally the tunnel split—into two brightly lit corridors. Caro slowed, wiped her still-bleeding lip, took a valuable second to catch her breath and think. Which way? Right or left?

  Suddenly her nose caught a faint whiff. Caro breathed in deeply and held it. She sniffed again and identified the scent of uremic acid. She hugged herself with hope. Where there was bat urine, there were bats. And where there were bats, there were openings to the surface. Without hesitation she headed into the left corridor, blessing the smelly domain of the mammals and vowing to find herself an opening.

  She had no choice. Because if Kimberly had her way, only one of them would be leaving the cave alive.

  WYATT EMERGED into the fresh air from the bottom of his bat-filled mine and the natural caverns above the Silver Dollar. He was covered in dirt and filth, his feet were sore, and his fingernails bled where he’d climbed with more attention to speed than caution.

  “Morgan!” he yelled. “It’s Wyatt. Where are you?”

  He heard only the sound of his own voice. And he saw the turkey vultures, the ones he’d seen yesterday. He hadn’t been able to see them from the valley floor, but he certainly could from here. Now, though, there were more than three. There were as many as a dozen—circling, coasting on the desert thermals, waiting for the right moment.

  That sight gave Wyatt added strength. If their prey was dead, there wouldn’t be a vulture in sight. They’d all be down on the ground, feeding and fighting over choice scraps. Wyatt raced along the route he’d taken to rescue Kimberly—only Kim hadn’t really needed rescuing. She’d only provided a diversion from the vultures’ real prey.

  Part of him was shocked that his dearest childhood friend, a woman he loved as a sister, had deceived him— and worse. But the hidden part of him wasn’t shocked a bit. Wyatt Bodine knew there were only three sane motives for murder.

  Money, sex and power.

  Kimberly was probably stealing gold from his mine. Kimberly most certainly had wanted him in her life—and her bed—for a very long time. And marrying him would ensure her place as the reigning queen of both the Bar E and the Silver Dollar.

  Motive for murder times three.

  Morgan passed the large cleft in the rock formations where Caro had lowered herself to “rescue” Kim. Was there anyone down there now? He flattened himself on the ground, leaned over the edge and peered down into the crack.

  The late-morning sunlight was growing brighter and bolder; visibility at the bottom was much better today. But Wyatt saw no one—and the vultures continued to circle. He got to his feet and continued along territory he’d never walked before. Around him huge pillars of rock rose in strange formations. Massive bleached boulders threatened to block his way. Except for routine glances forward and behind to check his bearings, Wyatt refused to be stopped. He was as relentless, as persistent, as the vultures overhead.

  The rock formations drew tighter and tighter together until it seemed as if even the hot wind couldn’t find a single cleft in the wall of rocks. In any other circumstances Wyatt would have turned around, defeated. But the birds’ low presence told him he was close. Very close. He could almost feel their excitement.

  Boulder by bare boulder, pillar by desolate pillar, Wyatt searched for an alternate route.

  Then he found it!

  He squeezed between two columns, their massive bulk refusing to yield. He turned sideways, sucked in his breath, ignored his protesting ribs and forced himself through. For a second he was stuck, then he popped out onto a small hollow that dipped and led into a dark, naturally formed cavern. It quickly narrowed into a much smaller passage that dropped sharply. It was almost a pit, but if he moved carefully, he should be able to lower himself down those steep slopes without a rope. He slowly descended. His first few steps yielded two shocking discoveries.

  The first was gold—vein after vein of crystalline yellow. It was underfoot, overhead, on his left side, on his right. The clear, untarnished color of the only corrosion-free metal known to man shone clear and true in the largest vein Wyatt had ever seen.

  The second discovery was more disturbing. Beneath his feet, as battered and beaten as the gold was pure, was Morgan Bodine.

  Wyatt dropped to his knees, his hand searching for his brother’s wrist. He rolled the inert body over, revealing bound hands and feet. Wyatt cursed viciously. He reached for the knife he always carried, slashed the ropes and gently cradled his brother in his lap.

  “Oh, Morg, what did she do to you?”

  Morgan’s right leg bent at a crazy angle. The damage his brother had suffered, still suffered, stabbed at Wyatt’s heart, and he moved gingerly, unwilling to cause more pain.

  “Morgan? It’s Wyatt. Come on, answer me.”

  He took Morgan’s wrist again. He could barely feel a pulse. Wyatt opened his canteen, soaked the bandanna he’d carried in a back pocket and sponged his brother’s bruised face. He doubted the touch of the wet cloth would revive Morgan, but
perhaps the smell of water would. Desert dwellers learned to treasure everything about water—its smell, its sound, the sight of it. Horses, coyotes, javelina, burrowing owls, even the tiny hummingbirds, knew that moisture meant life. Humans were no exception.

  Wyatt continued to sponge his brother’s dirty face. He gently ran the edges of the damp bandanna against the blistered lips, stroked the sweat-streaked hair, rocked Morgan in his arms.

  “Come back to me, little brother. The ranch needs you. Virgil needs you. Hell, I need you! Now open those damn eyes!”

  Nothing. Not even a flicker. If anything, his brother’s pulse seemed weaker.

  “Please don’t die, Morg. Because if you do, I won’t be able to stand it.” Wyatt’s voice broke. “Don’t let Kimberly win.”

  Morgan’s lips parted, the air slowly hissing out. Tears ran down Wyatt’s face as he braced himself for his brother’s death rattle.

  “I’ll dig that woman’s grave myself for what she’s done to you, Morg. I swear it by everything I hold dear.”

  “’Take a number, Wyatt,” Morgan gasped. “And stand in line.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sunday—High Noon

  THE CAVE ECHOED with the sounds of Caro’s frantic flight from Kimberly. Her breath came in ragged puffs as she pushed her body to the limit. She should have spent more time at the gym! Better yet, she should have jogged a couple of miles every morning, she thought, as the stitch in her side grabbed her and forced her to stop.

  “Damn it,” she swore through gritted teeth. A demented woman with a gun was chasing her, help was miles away, and her own physical fatigue promised her a bullet in the head—or a shove down a rocky pit. Lord knew she’d passed enough of them in this winding maze.