“Hello?” Jonathan’s voice drifted over the phone line.
“Jon, I was worried about you. Are you okay?”
John sighed, relieved to hear Lauren’s voice. It seemed to fill the large living room with a warm hominess that even the glowing fire and the mug of hot cocoa on the table by his chair couldn’t do. Ever since she’d left, he’d felt guilty for hurting her feelings. After thinking things over, he knew without a doubt she couldn’t be the attorney helping Van Rooten. She was too ethical. Hell, she wouldn’t even go to bed with John and he knew she had wanted to. Maybe he’d picked the fight to put distance between them in order to protect her.
Finally, he remembered she’d asked how he was doing. “I’m fine. Bored, but I’ve found some ledgers and bills. They don’t make any sense to me, but you may want to look at them when you get a chance to come back out.” He hoped it would be soon.
“Would tomorrow be okay?” Her voice was pleasant but professional. The kind of voice he imagined she used to talk to her clients.
“Sure.”
“Great. A man claiming to know you is here, saying he needs to meet with you.”
John felt a momentary tweak of disappointment that this was a business call. He’d hoped she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He wanted her to really care how he was doing. Then the gist of what she was saying caught his attention. Maybe this man she was talking about knew something that could help him. Or hurt him, he realized.
Lauren continued, “He wouldn’t say why, but he says he thinks he can be of help to you. He was driving a gray car so he must be the same man you saw at your ranch. Now, Jon, his name is significant—Cliff Atkinson.”
John sat down hard in the large leather chair opposite the fireplace and stared at the fire. Atkinson. Too coincidental. Atkinson was dead. And if he wasn’t, what was he doing here, now?
“Jon, do you know this man?”
He cleared his throat and leaned back. “I must. I recognize the name. Did he tell you anything else?”
“Just that he thought he could help you.”
“Then I guess I’d better meet with him.” The sooner he got information from Atkinson, the sooner he’d figure out what had happened to him. Maybe Atkinson was in the same time dilemma he was.
“I think I should accompany him to your place. If he knows anything, I want to hear it.”
“I’d like for you to come.” John needed her with him. She could be a buffer between him and this man. Besides, it would give him an opportunity to apologize.
“I guess we’ll see you then, sometime after lunch tomorrow.”
“Fine. And Lauren, I’m sorry. I never really thought you were in with Van Rooten. I’m just fishing for something to make me feel in control.”
“That’s okay, Jon. I understand.” Her voice still lacked its usual warmth.
“Tell me about the break-ins.” He didn’t know what her place looked like, but he visualized soft femininity. A knot of anger formed in his throat as he thought of someone violating Lauren’s home.
“Oh, boy. My house and the office were royal messes, but at least nothing was destroyed.”
“Do you have any idea who did it? Or why?” He wished he was with her, to comfort her.
“We don’t know who did it, but whoever it was got a copy of the photos I took the day we were in the canyon.”
“If what we suspect is true, then it was Van Rooten, and he must think you’re able to identify him.” That would fit right in with the sheriff searching for him with a gun cocked and ready.
“That’s what I thought, too, and so did Robert. But Chester may not have been around to do it. Robert said he’s out of town.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. That just lent more credence to the theory that Jordan and Van Rooten were working together, but John dared not bring up his suspicion because he knew that would renew his and Lauren’s argument. “Lauren, be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Thanks, Jon. can take care of myself, but I will watch over my shoulder.” He heard her sigh. “Listen, I have a lot to do, so if I’m going to be coming to see you tomorrow, I’ve got to get busy. You take care, okay?”
John felt worse after she hung up than he had before she’d called. He cradled the mug of cocoa in his hands and studied the fire. The yellow-and-orange flames licked at the piñon logs, sending sparks curling up the chimney just as they had the night he’d held her in his arms. The only person in this world that he cared about might be in danger, and it was all because of him—whoever he was.
A Texas Ranger transported in time. A lawman trapped in the body of Jonathan McCain. A possible drug smuggler. An accused murderer. And no telling what else.
Chapter 11
The following day, John leaned against a post on the long covered porch and watched the dust kick up behind Lauren’s car as it approached the ranch house. This feisty woman who’d snared his heart drove too fast. She also had more spunk than any woman he’d ever known, and he liked it.
Before the thick cloud of dust around the white car settled, Lauren had jumped out and faced him from the opposite side of the vehicle. Images of a spunky rider faded as he noticed how she was dressed. A dark business suit made her appear cool and sophisticated. Her hair was pulled back and small pearls clung to her ears. He wondered if she’d forgiven him for doubting her. He hadn’t been able to tell over the phone, and now the dark glasses she wore shielded her expression.
The passenger door opened in slow motion, and a man John didn’t recognize unfolded himself from the low-slung car. Cliff Atkinson was who Lauren had said would be with her. The man didn’t look anything like the Atkinson who’d. been shot by the firing squad in San Elizario. A connection had to exist, though, because it was just too much of a coincidence.
Using all the acting skills he could muster to cover his memory loss, John greeted his guests. “Come on in.”
Lauren stepped onto the porch and slipped her shades up on top of her head, revealing the unfathomable depths of her blue eyes. She was still hurt, still angry. In understanding, John swallowed his disappointment as he opened the door. He’d hoped she had accepted his apology. “Hello, Lauren.”
A polite, hesitant smile flickered on her lips in response, and then a hint of exotic flowers rose from her hair as she brushed past him on her way inside. The scent brought back memories of her wanton reaction to his kisses, and he closed his fingers around the doorknob to keep from reaching out to her.
“How you doing, jailbird?” Cliff interrupted John’s thoughts with a hearty slap on his back as he followed Lauren into the house.
“Just fine since I’m not there anymore,” John answered, gesturing toward the living room. “Have a seat.”
Lauren crossed the room and perched on the edge of a big leather armchair before taking out a notepad. John knew she had chosen that chair to avoid being forced to sit beside him on the sofa. Her face was still cool, businesslike, but not unfriendly. Oblivious to the drama between Lauren and John, Cliff plopped down in the matching chair and promptly hiked an ankle over his knee.
John sat opposite them, where he could watch every nuance that crossed both Lauren’s and Cliffs faces. Trying not to show his anticipation, he rested one arm on the back of the sofa and willed himself to relax. He’d find out soon enough what the man knew.
Cliff cleared his throat, looking from John to Lauren. “Ms. Hamilton, I really need to talk to Jonathan alone. Would you mind?”
Lauren’s shoulders stiffened at the request. “I’m here to protect Jonathan, Mr. Atkinson. I don’t think it would be wise for me to leave.”
“Hey, I don’t mean to offend you. You can watch us through the window there if that’d make you feel better.” He motioned to the French windows that looked onto the long veranda.
John watched Lauren as she considered Cliff’s suggestion. Her brow furrowed in a frown and her pink lips pursed. He knew she didn’t want to leave him alone with the man. But for some reason
, whoever this Atkinson was, he wanted to talk privately. The thought that Atkinson didn’t trust Lauren knotted John’s stomach, reminding him of his own distrust.
Whatever the reason for the request, he needed to know what was going on. He caught Lauren’s uncertain gaze. “Ten minutes?” he asked, keeping his voice even, trying to reassure her.
He could tell she struggled with her instincts before she finally agreed. “Okay. And I’m taking you up on your offer, Mr. Atkinson. I’ll be on the porch. By the window.”
The staccato sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor emphasized her displeasure when she crossed the room. As she opened the door, she turned around and studied the two men, gauging them, as if trying to figure out what they planned to do. John wished he could determine if the expression on her face really reflected fear for his well-being or if she was having doubts about his character again.
If he had known her less well, he might not have noticed the anxious way her hand clutched at the doorknob or her eyes narrowed before she closed the door. John sank back in relief. She was scared—for him.
Cliff broke into a laugh. “She’s quite a character. Wouldn’t tell me diddly-squat about you on the way out, but she sure did try to pick my brain about you.” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs. “Can we trust her?”
John shifted uneasily. Though he had doubted Lauren—with just cause, he had to remind himself—it still made him uncomfortable to realize someone else shared those concerns. “What do you mean?”
“Have you told her or her partner, that Jordan character, the truth?” Cliff asked. “You know, about who you are.”
“No. I wasn’t sure if I should.” He hadn’t told anyone that he was John McCain. “I didn’t figure she would believe me.” No one would believe he was supposed to be living in 1877!
“You might be right, but since I’m here now, I can back up your story. The agency is sorry things got out of hand before we caught up with you, but you were supposed to alert someone if there were any problems.”
Alert who, and how? Were he and this man talking at cross-purposes? “I didn’t have a way.” Hell, Cardis wasn’t going to let him walk into the telegraph office and wire for help.
“Really got tangled up, huh?” Cliff ran his finger around the collar of his shirt, then flicked open the top button. “Now I can breathe. When my wife and I got back from our holiday, I learned you’d been accused of murder. I hightailed it out here to see if I could help you, but you’d already disappeared. I couldn’t believe your attorneys got you out on bail so quickly. Anyway, I came out here to find you Sunday, and you weren’t around.”
So Lauren’s suspicions were right. Cliff was the man who’d paid him a visit. “I saw you snooping around.”
Cliff frowned. “Then why the hell didn’t you come out and talk to me? Time’s a-passin’, man!”
John was relieved that Cliff knew who he was, but didn’t like hearing about time. “I was too far away. Besides, I was expecting Van Rooten and didn’t have a weapon other than this kitchen knife.” He slid the long blade out of his boot. Through the window, he saw Lauren’s mouth drop open in horror. He held up a palm of his hand and shook his head to let her know everything was okay.
Cliff twisted his head toward the window and lowered his voice. “So is she the one?”
“The one?” John was confused. What was Cliff talking about?
Cliff’s eyes narrowed. “You got a screw loose or something? Is she Van Rooten’s contact? What do you think I meant?”
John didn’t have to think now before he answered. “No, she’s not connected to him in any way.”
“What about Jordan? I couldn’t find any dirt on him. Do you know anything about him yet?”
John had thought Atkinson knew he was John McCain, not Jonathan. But there was no bridge to the past here. Cliff was set squarely in the present, and he expected Jonathan to have some information. “I don’t know anything about Jordan other than he showed up to defend me.”
“You care to expand on that?” Cliff asked.
“Seems he’s a friend of my folks. My sister hired him. But that’s a different story. Let’s get on with this.” John didn’t want to get sidetracked right now. He hoped this man sitting before him would say something to spark a memory.
“Okay. We know Van Rooten’s dealing. We pretty well know who his suppliers are, but we don’t know who fronts the dope money for him. Otherwise, we’d have made mincemeat of his ass some time ago. We know it’s an attorney in this area. If it’s not the D.A. like we’d thought, then who is our man—or woman?”
“I wish to hell I knew, Cliff.” What he didn’t know was how much longer he could carry on this facade. He couldn’t answer Cliff’s questions about Van Rooten. Now, if Cliff would ask something about Cardis and San Elizario, he might be able to oblige.
“We can’t do a thing about Van Rooten. He’s our only link.”
John still couldn’t figure out how Cliff fit into the picture, but at least they shared a disdain for Van Rooten. “What should I do now?” he asked.
“I don’t think you should risk contacting any of our suppliers in Mexico. Things might get sticky in.the circumstances.”
John was stunned. Suppliers? Lauren had said the drugs came from Mexico. Was that what Atkinson was talking about? Sweat immediately broke out on John’s forehead. She’d suspected he’d been involved in drug smuggling and now this Cliff was confirming it. But he couldn’t let the man know how badly the news upset him.
Swiping at his face with the back of his hand, John realized he had to deal with one thing at a time. It didn’t matter what time period he was from, he still valued his life and knew the sheriff presented a real danger. And maybe Cliff did, too. He swallowed and forced a tough tone into his voice. “Van Rooten has tried to kill me more than once.”
“You knew the rules when you came into this. I want the records. Have you got them stashed here?”
Even though he didn’t know what records Cliff was talking about, he realized that was why his house had been searched earlier. Someone else had been hunting for records, too. Van Rooten had every legal reason to search his house. But now Cliff wanted the same records. John couldn’t trust anyone, including Cliff Atkinson.
Cliff continued, “Don’t think we don’t appreciate you putting your life on the line to warn us when the stuff is here so we can pick it up before it hits the streets. But without the evidence of money transfers, all we’ve got is your word. I’ve waited a year to put the sheriff and his pals behind bars, and we’re so close I can feel it.”
John sank lower into the sofa with relief. Unless he was mistaken, Cliff was in law enforcement and that might mean he, too, was involved in a legal capacity, because Atkinson didn’t seem to want to arrest him. Though John still didn’t understand, he was willing to take a chance. He explained about the sheriff searching his house. “When I got back and started looking around, all I found was a partial ledger.” He sure hoped it was the one Cliff was looking for. John would have a lot of explaining to do if it wasn’t.
“Let me see it,” Cliff said.
John went to his desk and pulled a book out of the bottom drawer. He’d studied it, hoping to find answers, but all it had done was provoke questions.
Cliff scanned the few pages with entries, then thumbed through the rest of the book. “Damn! Someone has torn out the last few pages:” He stood and began to pace the floor. “Those pages are probably what we need. Without some hard evidence our hands are tied.”
Convinced now that Cliff was clean, John was willing to involve Lauren. While thinking he and Cliff were somehow associated with the sheriff, John would have gone to his grave before telling him about her. “Lauren has some photographs. They won’t show anything about drugs, but maybe they will show who was shooting at her.”
Cliff stopped and faced him. “Huh? Who was shooting at her?”
“She can explain.”
Cliff glanced t
oward the window. “Then you think we can tell her about us?”
John wasn’t sure what “us” was, but he’d deal with that when it came up. “I’d trust her with my life.” He had already done so when he’d allowed her to walk out of the cave.
“Then let’s get her back in here so we can either clear some of this stuff up or make the water a little muddier.”
John stood and stretched before he strode to the door and threw it open. “Lauren, would you come back in now?”
She immediately quit pacing the porch and appeared in the doorway, but she still didn’t look happy with the way things were going. She did manage a halfhearted smile that was more of a question than a greeting.
John tilted his head toward Atkinson. “This guy needs to hear your canyon story, then he’s going to explain some things.” Cliff didn’t realize it, but he was going to be explaining things to John at the same time.
“Good. I’m glad somebody knows something.” She swished past him and headed toward the man who was now standing in front of the unlit fireplace.
Cliff’s voice interrupted John’s assessment of her sashaying across the room. “Ms. Hamilton, Jon says you’ve been shot at. Would you fill me in?”
Lauren sat back on the sofa and folded her arms across the buttons of her navy blue suit jacket. She’d had all the secrecy and bull she was going to stand for. The two men were acting as if they had something to hide. While she’d stood cooling her heels on the veranda, they had talked plenty. Apparently Jonathan remembered more in Cliff’s presence than he did in hers. She knew her anger was fueled by hurt, hurt that Jonathan still didn’t trust her. “I’d like to know who you are first.”
“Since Jon assures me you’re okay...” He pulled his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket and showed Lauren his identification. “I’m an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration.”
Lauren took the wallet and looked at the badge, then slowly turned her gaze to Jonathan, who was standing in the center of the room, his thumbs hooked casually in his jeans pockets. He didn’t appear shocked or concerned, but the knowledge that the DEA was investigating him made her heart sink. How could she have been so wrong?
McCain's Memories Page 14