by Sheryl Lynn
“Will that solve anything?”
He finger-combed hair from her cheek. She caught her breath, knowing better than to read anything into the gesture, knowing she should not enjoy his touch as much as she did.
“Is it possible anything my father did can ever be made right?”
With the engine off and the air conditioner no longer blowing, the temperature soared inside the cruiser. Carson didn’t seem in any hurry.
“I don’t know how to answer. Only reason I agreed to help Bannerman in the first place was because I thought it might lead to others involved in the hijacking.” He left the car. “Let’s find that mine.”
Carson settled the white Stetson on his head and led the way north away from the house. He carried a shovel. Madeline toted a long stick for poking under brush and around rocks for snakes. The ranch consisted of rocky hills, sheer rock ridges, dusty clutches of juniper and piñon, gullies like slashes cut by an impatient hand and hard-packed dirt. It was beautiful in a raw, savage sort of way, but it wasn’t much fun to explore. The borrowed boots hurt her toes and ankles. Sweat pooled in the small of her back and between her breasts.
Carson pointed across an arroyo. “I think the mine is over there.”
She protested with a groan. “No way my father toted two tons of money across that canyon.”
“It’s barely a ditch.” He climbed down the brittle side. A miniature landslide of broken sandstone and gravel followed him.
Madeline searched the horizon to judge whether any of the clouds hanging low over the mesas and mountains were producing rain. Flash floods could begin miles away, without a single raindrop falling on the affected area.
Carson urged her to come on down. She followed his path. Her boots slipped and she threw herself backward to stop a fall. He caught her waist and took her weight.
He went rigid, his head cocked. “Do you hear a car?”
Sounds traveled funny in the high desert air. All she heard were squabbling crows.
The far side of the arroyo was too steep to climb. They hiked over tumbled rocks and deep, soft sand before finding a place to climb out. Carson used his hands and feet to scramble up the rocks. She handed up the shovel and snake stick.
Madeline climbed. He grabbed her arm and hauled her over the edge.
He teased, “You climb pretty good for a girl.”
It didn’t seem possible to like this man as much as she did. Forget their connection because of her father. He was a cop, a well-respected member of his community, and a homeowner. She was an artist who lived from hand to mouth, with a family history straight out of a Charles Dickens novel, with only dreams to sustain her. They had nothing in common.
And yet, his smile spoke to her soul. His touch electrified her. In his house she felt safe. In his arms she felt alive.
“I really wish you would kiss me.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken her desire aloud until he kissed her. He tasted of salt and unbearable sweetness. She slid her hands over his biceps, along the powerful lines of his shoulders and to his neck. He dropped the tools. He slid a hand from her shoulder, down the jut of her shoulder blade and slowly along her spine, vertebra by vertebra until his hand rested softly but surely in the curve at the small of her back.
She explored the smooth ivory of his teeth. Their bodies molded breast to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. His broad-brimmed hat shaded their faces from the knowing sun. Nothing else existed—not the past, not the future—there was only his mouth, the erotic eagerness of his tongue, the way his fingers flexed against her back and curled into her hair at the base of her skull. She traced his ears and stretched her thumbs along his jaw.
“Hello!”
Carson shoved Madeline behind him and drew his pistol before she gathered her wits enough to know they were not alone. She looked around wildly.
Across the arroyo, a man froze in midwave, his smile cast in stone and his eyes so wide they looked white. “Uh,” he said, “don’t shoot?”
Covering her mouth with her hand, Judy Green stood next to the stranger.
Madeline wasn’t sure if the woman was shocked by Carson’s gun or because she had caught them kissing.
Chapter Ten
Carson sized up the stranger. A tall, lanky man with ropy muscles, wearing a vest with bulging pockets and holding a camera with several film canisters affixed to the dangling strap. A reporter. Carson considered letting the man put his hands down, decided against it and turned his attention to Judy.
“I warned you, Judy Green. To top it off, you ignored the official signs I posted. I’m arresting trespassers.”
Judy shrank. She knew good and well she’d blown it. Carson mused that an arrest would put her big, fat mouth to good use for once. Everybody in town would know Carson meant business.
Hands atop his head, the reporter swiveled his torso to look between Judy and Carson. “It’s my fault, Chief Cody. I insisted on seeing the Shay ranch.”
“You didn’t see the signs?”
“We saw the cruiser. I thought it would be okay. Nick really needs to talk to you, Carson.” Judy glared at Madeline. “Seeing how you’re still on duty, I figured you’d be here alone.”
Carson refrained from calling her a liar.
“This is all my doing, sir,” the reporter said. He spoke like a man who’d been in plenty of pickles. “I met Miss Green at the motel. Since she’s a close, personal friend of yours, I asked her to get me an interview.”
“Interview?”
“Nick Iola, National News Service. I have credentials.” He lowered a hand toward a pocket and Carson raised the pistol. “She called the station, found out you’d gone to lunch and we looked for you. Since you weren’t in town, Judy offered to take me to your place.”
Judy looked ready to bolt.
“I wanted to see the fire damage and saw your squad car. All my fault. Miss Green is only along for the ride.”
“Is that so? Just a friendly visit up to my place?”
“I didn’t tell!” Judy shouted.
“If you’re hoping to get off on a technicality, forget it. Telling and accidentally showing are the same thing.” He wondered how long he could lock her up for trespassing.
Madeline made a disgruntled noise. She clamped her arms over her midsection, giving a glare as good as she got from Judy.
“Chief Cody, it isn’t my intent to make trouble. The Worldwide hijacking is my story. I follow leads where I find them. I insisted on seeing the ranch. As I said, Miss Green is an innocent party.”
Judy’s eyes were too big and her chin quivered. “Nick here is a celebrity. His stories go to all the big newspapers. TV and radio, too. Ruff is gonna be famous.”
Carson loosed a heavy breath. Judy made his head hurt. Madeline touched his back. She indicated wanting a private word. They walked a few yards from the arroyo. Carson kept an eye on the reporter.
Madeline whispered, “He will hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“How do I do that? You’re taking an incredible risk letting me stay in your house. I know how people are. Quick to blame. Always ready to think the worst. You’ll lose your job because of me. And what happens when your friends and neighbors find out you’re harboring Frank Shay’s girl? Have you even thought about this?”
Guilt pinched him. He was supposed to be the protector. He didn’t mean to worry her. “I can handle those two.”
“Maybe Judy isn’t your girlfriend, but she sure wants to be. She feels betrayed. You can throw her into prison for twenty years and she’ll still find a way to get even.”
“I never touched her.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said through clenched teeth. “You have two choices. Either throw me out of your house or find a way to get on Judy’s good side. And that reporter, too, because he’s not going away.”
“Or choice three.” He noticed the reporter and Judy whispering together. He whipped his head about and they clamped their mouths shut. “I arre
st them and let them sit in jail until I’m good and ready to let them out.”
She shot him a look that gave him a start of recognition. He’d seen it often enough on Jill’s face. He’d learned the hard way that it meant he was acting like an idiot, and if he wanted to redeem himself he better do exactly as she said.
“They broke the law.”
Her eyebrows raised. Her lips pursed.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Give him an interview. Tell him the truth. I’ve got nothing to hide. He’ll see how important it is nobody knows I’m here. Even Judy has to understand.”
“She’s a woman scorned, remember?”
Madeline fluttered her eyelashes. “More flies with honey…”
She had a point. He recognized Nick Iola’s name from the newspaper stories. A face-to-face interview could clear up factual errors.
Carson requested the reporter remove the vest and toss it across the arroyo. Nick’s willingness confirmed he was accustomed to working with unfriendly authorities.
Carson looked for weapons and found notebooks, pens, pencils, a cell phone, canisters of film, candy bars and other journalistic provisions. He studied the reporter’s credentials. Everything looked legit.
“All right, come on over. You, too, Judy.”
Judy drew back and clutched her hands to her chest. “You aren’t going to put handcuffs on me, are you?”
This was a bad idea, but the best they could do. “No. Come on over.”
When Nick used a prickly little bush as a handhold, it uprooted and he slid to the bottom. He scraped his knees and shins. He brushed off the dirt before helping Judy climb down.
“This is a mistake,” Carson murmured.
“We can make it work to our advantage.”
It had to work. Otherwise he had to send Madeline away.
Nick Iola popped over the side of the cliff. His face was leathery and his hair was liberally shot through with gray. His bright, curious eyes were young. He scrubbed his right hand on his shorts before extending it to Carson.
Grunting with effort, Judy scrambled out of the arroyo. Her face was sweaty and red. She slapped dirt off her jeans. Carson noticed the daggers she flung at Madeline.
Iola picked up his vest. “If you have to ticket me, Chief Cody, go ahead. I admit my guilt.”
“Did you take pictures?”
Iola placed a protective hand over the camera. “Is that against the law, too?”
Madeline stepped forward. “I’m Madeline Shay, Mr. Iola.”
“I figured that.” He shook hands with her. “A lot of people want to talk to you.”
“Anyone with a good reason to do so knows exactly where to find her,” Carson said. “No law-enforcement agency considers her a suspect. Except in the loosest meaning of the word, she’s not even a witness.”
“I heard—”
“You heard wrong, sir.”
“I’ve been covering the crime beat a long time, Chief Cody. I’m more than happy to correct errors.” He wiped sweat off his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt. “The Worldwide Parcel hijacking is my story. I was first reporter on the scene in Utah. Nothing will stop me from following it through to the end.”
Madeline pantomimed digging for buried money. Tell him what we’re doing, she mouthed.
He didn’t want to, but saw her point. The more open they were, the less room Iola had to speculate. “Let’s walk and talk. We’re looking for the Crossruff Mine.”
“That’s just a story,” Judy said.
“It’s real.” He remembered it was on the side of a hill. He walked in the direction he believed it might be. “Only thing it ever produced was heartbreak, but it’s definitely real. Pat Shay blew up the entrance to keep kids from falling in.”
Iola caught up to Carson. “Why are you looking for a mine?”
“Shay had a week between the time he was arrested and when he got locked up. Plenty of time to stash the money—if he had it, that is. An old mine would be perfect. Keep the stash out of the weather. Casual hikers wouldn’t notice it. Nobody around to see what he’s doing.”
“Do you have good reason to think Shay got away with the entire shipment?”
“Nobody is positive Shay was even involved in the hijacking.”
“But what do you think?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. If I find a pile of money, I’ll know for sure. Until then, it’s anybody’s guess.”
“What about you, Miss Shay?”
“I didn’t speak to my father.” Madeline was in full Apache mode, stoic and inscrutable.
“Chief Cody, am I mistaken, or didn’t a query go out from your office to the tribal police on Fort Apache regarding ten thousand dollars donated anonymously to a school? A cash donation made shortly after the hijacking. Madeline, you live on the reservation.”
“There’s no way to trace the source,” Carson said.
“But you queried.”
Madeline stopped walking. She shoved her hands into her back pockets. He read hurt as clearly as if she’d written the word on her chest in big red letters.
“I hoped the school kept the box the money came in. No such luck.”
Madeline drew her head aside, and her eyes narrowed. Carson reached the top of a hill and stopped to wait for her to catch up, uncertain if she’d try. She pulled her hands from her pockets and resumed walking.
“My father sent the money,” she said. “He said he won the lottery. I didn’t want it so I gave it to the school.”
“If you didn’t talk, why give you money? Why leave you everything in his will?” Nick asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea why he did anything. I suspect the will had to do with making sure my mother didn’t benefit from his death.”
At the top of the hill, she gave Carson a considering look he didn’t understand, but a hunch said it wasn’t kindly. “I inherited this pile of rocks and a whole lot of ill will when he died. I tried to sell the ranch. Can’t find a buyer. The only reason I’m here is to get ready for a show.” She smiled ruefully and scraped her boot against the dirt. “He was as much a mystery to me as he was to anyone else.”
“But you’re out here in this Easy Bake Oven looking for the money,” Nick said.
“I want people to stop thinking I’m his accomplice.”
“What about your mother? She knew Shay had a lot of money when he died. She claims you know where he hid it.”
She stilled, her head high and regal. Carson caught a gleam in the reporter’s eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils and knew her calm beauty affected the man. A tight fist squeezed his diaphragm.
“If Mama believed that, she’d be digging up the countryside. If she were manic, she’d level these hills.”
“Manic?”
“Bipolar. Mama is mentally ill.”
A grin captured the reporter’s face. He pulled at his chin. “Grain of salt, got it.” He turned his attention back to Carson. “So how did you make the connection between Shay and the hijacking?”
Carson searched the landscape, seeking rocks a different color than their surroundings. He told Iola about Bannerman and the anonymous tipster.
“What about the arson? Is it connected to the hijacking?”
“Only because the fire revealed Deke Fry’s remains. The crimes are unrelated.”
“Do you have any suspects in the arson?”
The Harrigan name showing up in the newspaper was asking for real trouble. “No.”
“Oh come on, Carson,” Judy said. “Everybody knows Matt and Sug did it. Only reason you don’t arrest them is ’cause their daddy’s a lawyer and their uncle’s the mayor.”
“I don’t muddy names on a hunch.” He took Judy aside and, for her ears only, said, “The only reason you aren’t under arrest is because Madeline doesn’t want to press charges. You keep running your mouth and I won’t care what she wants.”
Judy’s lower lip pooched and she fiddled with the ends of her long, blond po
nytail. She acted more like a teenager instead of a woman in her twenties. “It’s the truth.”
“It’s not the truth until evidence proves it. Until then it’s slander.”
“You sure turned mean. Before she showed up you were a nice guy.”
“I was nice guy until someone tried to murder her. Do you understand what that means? You are not a stupid woman. So wake up and get with the program.”
She pouted like a six-year-old. “I never heard about murder.”
“That’s what it is. So keep your mouth closed or go back to town.”
She huffed a petulant sigh, lifted her chin and stalked after Iola.
“No vinegar. Honey,” Madeline whispered to him. He waved off her concerns and hiked up another hill.
THE SUN PERCHED on the mountains, turning the air deep, rich gold and the shadows long and purple. Insects revved up for an evening symphony. Madeline saw two rattlesnakes on their hike and somewhere nearby a skunk trailed noxious fumes. She was tired, hungry and anxious about being away from her beads. An hour ago Judy had complained her feet hurt and went back to the car. They didn’t find anything that resembled a mine shaft.
Madeline warmed to the reporter. Nick Iola had a sense of humor. He enjoyed talking, so it wasn’t long before she learned he lived in Las Vegas, had been married and divorced three times, worked as a war correspondent, been short-listed twice for a Pulitzer, been fired from two major newspapers and he owned three cats. He appeared oblivious to the heat and the rough hike.
With night approaching, they headed back to the ruined house. Unhappy about having to face Judy again, Madeline dawdled. Judy probably cared a whole lot less about Madeline being Frank Shay’s daughter and a whole lot more about Madeline kissing the man Judy wanted.
They followed a deer path, walking single file through the brush. The biting flies disappeared, but mosquitoes whined forward to take their place. Bats cast flitting shadows overhead.
“So,” Nick asked, “what do you think about there being a hijacker on the loose and unaccounted for?”