by Cassie Miles
“We already searched,” Burke said. “None of the fencing was cut.”
Still, there might be a sign where the kidnapper slipped through. They left the enclosure and rode slowly along the fence line. Five horizontal strands of barbed wire stretched from weathered posts. The lower two feet were reinforced with chicken wire that would act as a break against snowdrifts.
Jesse knew from experience that climbing through a barbed wire fence was a lot harder than it looked. All it took was one snag to get hopelessly entangled. But these fences weren’t impermeable.
Hoofprints at the edge of the fence showed the efforts of a search team, and also obscured any prints from the kidnapper. He wished he could have searched immediately after the ransom had been delivered. The ground was too dry and hard to take neat, perfect footprints. But there would have been broken twigs and shrubs.
He swung his horse around and started back again. “Who were your searchers, Burke?”
“The FBI team had their hands full, rounding up the survivalist gun smugglers. As soon as they were free, we sent the chopper over this area with a spotlight.”
That method was akin to using a monkey wrench when you needed a pair of tweezers. Tracking was about noticing the tiny details.
“And the sheriff,” Burke said. “He and his deputies looked over here.”
“Sheriff Trainer seems to be establishing a regular pattern of searching and not finding.”
He paused at a spot where the top strand of wire had been pulled loose from the staple attaching it to the post. In the packed earth outside the fence, he saw rectangular marks about eighteen inches apart.
“Over here.” He pointed to the sharp-edged tracks in the dried grass about ten feet away from the fence.
Carolyn dismounted and measured the distance between the two marks with her hands. “A ladder. He rested a ladder on the top wire and climbed over.”
“Consistent with his m.o.,” Burke said. “Low-tech.”
“But effective,” Carolyn said. “No wonder he got out of here so fast.”
Burke scowled. “How did we miss this?”
“Good question,” Jesse said. Once again, he was thinking of Sheriff Trainer. He’d been quick to point the finger of suspicion at Fiona. To divert it from himself?
“I don’t get it,” Fiona said. “Did the kidnapper make a getaway on horseback while he was carrying the backpack with the ransom and a ladder, too?”
“He must have disposed of the ladder.” Jesse peered into the thick forest. “If they’d made a full search with one man posted every three feet, they would have found it.”
“And what would that prove?” she asked.
“Not a damn thing. We don’t need the ladder. Finding this track is enough.”
“Enough for what?” She cocked her head, curious about his process. “We already know the kidnapper was here and took the ransom. So what are we looking for?”
“We want to pick up his trail, which probably starts somewhere in those trees. Then we can track him, figure out where he went from here.”
She gave a quick nod. “Got it.”
“Spread out,” Jesse said. “Let’s move into the trees.”
They dismounted and led their horses into the forest. Daylight was fading, and he hoped they could pick up the trail before dusk settled. Tracking at night presented a whole other set of problems.
It was Fiona who called out, “I found something.”
He hadn’t expected her to be able to notice a track. She wasn’t a hunter. “What is it?”
“Well, I stepped in it. There was a horse here, and he left behind a nasty little present.” She stood with her foot in the air above a dried pile of manure. “Can I wipe off my sneaker?”
“No way.” Jesse turned to Burke. “Those road apples are evidence, right?”
He stifled a chuckle. “Absolutely.”
Jesse took out his cell phone. “Stand right there, Fiona. I need a photo of this. Lift that foot up a little higher.”
Aware that she was being teased, she pointed her toe and posed. “How’s this?”
He took the shot. Even with dried manure on her shoe, she was damned cute. “Okay, now let’s zoom in for a close-up.”
“I’ll zoom you.” Laughing, she dragged the sole of her shoe across the trunk of a tree. “Okay, smart guy. I found where the horse was. Let’s see you do your tracking thing.”
His “tracking thing” turned out to be easier than he expected. He hunkered down and studied the hoof marks. Immediately, he noticed, “This horse was missing a right front shoe.”
“Like the horse at the Circle M,” Fiona said.
“The black mare that Abby wanted to ride.” That minor irregularity meant this track would stand out from the many others. “Finally. We caught a break.”
“What break?” Carolyn demanded. “What are you two talking about?”
Fiona explained, “We were over at the Circle M earlier today. One of the horses owned by the SOF had thrown a shoe. The kidnapper must have been riding that horse when he picked up the ransom.”
“Which means,” Jesse said, “that we now have a trail.”
His instincts were leading them in the right direction. Though he wasn’t a detective, he had found the key to this investigation by being true to himself. He should have done that from the start, followed the course of less thinking and more action.
THOUGH FIONA WOULD have enjoyed staying with Jesse and Burke while they tracked, the trail got really complicated: uphill into the forest, then across a rocky area and down to a dirt path. It was obvious that they’d be tracking for hours, and she needed to pick up her daughter from Belinda’s.
She and Carolyn returned to the Carlisle ranch house.
Inside, they were greeted by Carolyn’s mother, Andrea. A tall, slim woman in denim and cashmere, Andrea greeted them with a warm smile. She didn’t hug. Andrea was reserved.
She’d divorced Sterling Carlisle and left the ranch when Carolyn and Dylan were children. Fiona couldn’t imagine ever leaving Abby, no matter what the circumstance. But she was sympathetic to Andrea, who—according to Carolyn—had wanted the children to move with her to New York City. Both Carolyn and Dylan had chosen the ranch.
As an adult, Carolyn had spent some time with her mother, who was remarried and had a twelve-year-old daughter. Their relationship seemed okay. When Carolyn called her mother and told her that Nicole had been kidnapped, Andrea hopped on a plane and came to the ranch to offer her support in this time of family crisis.
Dylan hadn’t been happy to see his mother.
“Good news,” Carolyn told her. “We found a track from the kidnapper’s horse. Burke and Jesse are following the trail.”
A frown pinched Andrea’s brow. “I wish there was more I could do. I feel so helpless.”
“We all do,” Fiona said.
“You must stay for dinner,” Andrea said to her. “You and your adorable daughter.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said. “Especially for Abby. I think it’s best if I take her home and get her to bed early.”
Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how anxious she was to get home. She was looking forward to tonight when she would spend time alone with Jesse. He’d promised to return to her house after he and Burke reached the end of their trail.
She had a fleeting thought of sitting close beside him on the sofa, their thighs touching. He’d caress her cheek. She’d trace the line of that tiny scar on his chin. She dragged herself out of her reverie. “But thank you, Andrea.”
“Maybe tomorrow I could come to your house for a visit,” she said. “Carolyn tells me that you’re an artist. I’d like to see your work.”
Fiona sensed something more than polite interest in her comment. “I don’t have many pieces here. I left several sculptures in storage with an artist friend in Denver, and there’s a shop in Cherry Creek that takes my pottery on consignment.”
“You might want to dig out your portf
olio,” Carolyn said as she patted her mother on the shoulder. “Mom runs an art gallery in Manhattan.”
With another smile, Andrea said, “I’m always looking for new talent.”
Fiona blinked as if a flashbulb had exploded in her face. Opportunities appeared in mysterious ways. “A gallery?”
“I try to showcase artists from across the country. What’s your focus?”
“Right now I’m working on pottery that’s a variation on the Navajo wedding vase with a drinking spout on each side.”
“I’d love to see it,” Andrea said. “Tomorrow morning?”
“It’s a date.”
This timing couldn’t be better. She’d been working on a Web site to sell her handiwork. If Fiona could get her worked placed in a Manhattan gallery, her reputation would increase by leaps and bounds. It might even be possible for her to make a living selling her art.
As she hurried out the door with Wentworth, a shiver went through her. Earlier today, her outlook had been pretty gloomy. But now things seemed to be going well. Maybe too well.
For one thing, Jesse and Burke had found a tangible trail that might lead to the ransom.
For another, Carolyn’s mother had opened the door to possible career opportunity.
And then, there was Jesse. The attraction she felt toward him was growing deeper with every shared glance, every smile, every laugh. An electricity arced between them whenever they touched. She couldn’t deny that their friendship was poised on the verge of becoming something more. And wouldn’t that be…amazing? To make love again? To spend the night in his sheltering embrace? It was too much to hope for.
Another shiver creased her spine. Being too happy was dangerous.
Chapter Fifteen
The kidnapper had taken an erratic escape route, dodging into the cover of the trees, up toward a ridge, down to the fence, then back to the forest. Jesse read the tracks and the mind-set of the man who made them—a man who was running scared.
At the time of the ransom pickup, all hell had been breaking loose. Burke described three hundred cattle in the pen, bawling and jostling. A dozen ranch hands poured into the area near La Rana. Two other FBI operations were under way. There had been helicopters, bullhorns and armed assault teams.
No wonder the kidnapper had been clashing back and forth. He was a villain and a criminal but also a mouse peeking out of his hole and hoping to get away.
Finally, he’d settled on a route, eventually leaving the Carlisle Ranch and riding parallel to the main road. Since his horse had lost a shoe, he avoided the hard surface of the pavement. A lucky break for Jesse. He had a trail to follow, and it led into Riverton.
By the time he and Burke reached the edge of town, dusk had turned to darkness.
Jesse dismounted and shone his flashlight on a hoofprint at the shoulder of the road. There was no corresponding print on the opposite side. He walked to the corner of the street and back again, finding plenty of other footprints and the track of a mountain bike. No hoofprints. “This is it. End of the trail.”
He surveyed the area. There were mailboxes on posts and long driveways. Lights shone through the windows of small frame houses, set back from the road. A single streetlight cast dim illumination on the rural neighborhood.
“There could be witnesses,” Burke said.
“In a town like Riverton, seeing a man on horseback wouldn’t be unusual.”
“You never know. I’ll contact the sheriff and have his men canvass the area.”
“Sheriff Trainer.” Jesse spoke the name with undisguised disgust. “He’s already missed too many clues. His men should have found these tracks.”
“Doubtful.” Burke adjusted his baseball cap. “I’ve done my fair share of hunting, and I’ve never seen anybody follow a trail the way you just did, especially in the dark. Admit it, Jesse. You’re half bloodhound.”
Jesse grinned. “Are you calling me a dog?”
“Where the hell did you learn how to track like this?”
“When I was a kid, I spent summers on the reservation with my grandfather, a wise man. He taught me a lot.”
“Ute?”
“Navajo.” Jesse turned toward the lights of the main street in town. He hated to think they’d come this far to reach a dead end. “Why was he headed into town?”
“He must have planned to meet up with his buddy,” Burke said. “I can’t think of anybody else he’d want to see in Riverton. Most of the townsfolk thought the Sons of Freedom were troublemakers.”
“The track we’ve been following,” Jesse said, “do you think it was Butch or Richter?”
“My gut tells me it was Richter. When the ransom was being delivered, he was quick on the trigger. Just like he was when he shot you.”
“My gut agrees with yours.” Obviously, Richter was the more dangerous of the two. “But if Richter had the ransom, why did he kill his partner?”
“Greed.” One of the most common and deadly of motives.
“Carrying a million dollars in a backpack, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be seen. There had to be a damn good reason why he risked coming into town. More than that, why did he cross the road here? At this particular street?”
Burke concluded, “His destination in Riverton—wherever it was—must be nearby.”
A block away was the main commercial strip. They mounted and rode at a walk on the edge of the pavement toward the stop sign. Riverton was too small to merit a stoplight or a grocery store. The people who lived here shopped in Delta where Jesse had been in the hospital.
Though it was only seven o’clock, most of the storefronts were dark, except for their twinkling Christmas decorations. The only activity seemed to be at the far end of the block-long business district where the tavern and the diner were located. A number of cars and trucks were parked at the curb outside those two establishments.
They approached the gas station, a shabby-looking place. The office windows were streaked with grime, as were the three garage doors on the repair bays.
“I’ve never seen this gas station open,” Burke said. “The old guy who runs it keeps his own schedule.”
“Silas O’Toole.” Jesse remembered the incident that took place when he and Wentworth had driven through town. “I saw him in action with a double-barrel shotgun in his hands, warning some cowboy to get off his property.”
“What was the argument about? A flat tire?”
“O’Toole has a grandson who works with him. A mechanic, I guess. Silas mentioned his parole officer. The grandson took off before he had finished some work for the cowboy.”
“He left town,” Burke said. “When?”
“Right after I got out of the hospital. The day after the ransom was delivered.” Jesse paused. The significance of this episode was beginning to sink in. “Damn it, I should have paid more attention.”
The timing was right. O’Toole’s grandson could have been working with Richter and Butch, could have gotten a payoff from them and blown town. Why didn’t I make this connection sooner? There wasn’t time for mistakes.
Jesse dismounted. His boots hit the pavement of the parking lot outside the gas station and jolted him into a state of alertness. There was one light over the pumps and one over the door. He needed his flashlight to peer into corners.
Around the back of the station, four cars—all in varying states of disrepair—were parked. The stink of oil, gas and grit hung in the air. He and Burke prowled, looking for hoofprints in the mud. He needed a sign, an indication that the kidnapper had been here.
“I should have paid more attention,” he said. “A grizzled old guy in overalls waving a shotgun is a pretty big clue.”
“Or just local color,” Burke muttered. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve had enough of ranches and cattle and cowboys. Can’t wait to get back to my office in Denver.”
“What about Carolyn?”
“She works in Denver, too. Don’t let her cowgirl persona fool you. She’s a high-powered businesswoman who l
ikes sushi for lunch and Gucci for shoes. It’s a damn good thing. I love Carolyn, but I don’t think I could live out here.”
“I could.”
Though he hadn’t been thinking about settling down here, or anywhere else for that matter, Jesse enjoyed mountain living. Every view was as pretty as a postcard. The air was fresh. He liked being here, especially because Fiona was here.
The minute he thought of her, his heart beat a little faster. A vision of her gentle smile filled his mind. He saw her long hair flowing behind her as she rode beside him. Tonight, they’d have some quiet time together. He’d make sure of that.
At the front of the gas station, he twisted the handle on the door to the office, hoping that O’Toole’s lax business practices extended to leaving the place wide open. No such luck. The door was locked.
He went to the repair bays and yanked on the first garage door. Also locked.
The second door slid up with a loud screech that made their horses jump. He turned to Burke and grinned. “Ready for a little breaking and entering?”
“No problem. I’m an FBI special agent.”
“Which doesn’t put you above the law.”
“But gives me a lot of experience in coming up with plausible, semilegal excuses.”
Jesse entered the garage and turned on the bare-bulb lights. The inside of the auto repair area gave new meaning to the concept of neglect. Tools scattered across a grime-encrusted counter. Grease-stained rags overflowed a metal barrel. A worn calendar from 2002 showed a sexy redhead in black leather chaps leaning against a motorcycle. These concrete floors didn’t look as though they’d been swept since the day that calendar was new.
It didn’t take long to find a hoof print on the floor, clearly outlined in a combination of mud and grease. “There was a horse in here, but this hoof has a shoe. There’s no way of knowing if it was the kidnapper’s mount.”
“It was him.” Burke rose from the floor where he’d been picking through a pile of trash. “I might not be a bloodhound, but when it comes to finding money, I’m top dog.”