“Yeah, I turned it off for a while when I couldn’t get you. I just need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Who are you hiding from?” And what had he done now?
“Don’t tell them where I am. Don’t tell them anything.”
“Tyge, I don’t know where you are. And who is ‘them’?”
“Just be careful, babe.”
Malone sighed as Tyge cut the connection. He hadn’t answered her questions and she hadn’t expected him to.
She felt Joss staring at her and wasn’t surprised when the girl said, “Seems like I’m not the only one with a problem.”
“No,” Malone agreed, “seems like you’re not.”
She thought of her empty search through recent, and some not so recent, Amber Alerts. Her laptop, brought in from the living quarters of the trailer, had yielded nothing. No one was looking for a girl matching Joss’ description, at least not openly. Malone took comfort from the thought that no one who wished Joss harm could possibly know where she was now or who she was with. They had traveled miles and cities and states away from where she had first slipped aboard Malone’s trailer and they were headed even further away.
An unexpected thought caused a frisson of alarm. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Had one. Threw it away so they couldn’t use it to find me.”
“Smart girl.”
“No way to pay for the service at the end of the month anyway.”
Malone glanced at her and then away, dismayed. Malone had run away from home, it was true, but she’d never had to run away from danger.
HMMM, what manner of man is this Tyge? And what manner of name is that? Short for Tiger, an animal known to be lithe and graceful and deadly? Surely not, for I detected from his comments that this Tyge is more fearful for himself than for Ms. Rodeo, despite the fact that he did ask after her well-being. Regardless, he appears a harbinger for danger, and I shall be wary and watchful for its approach.
CHAPTER SIX
C ade parked behind the show office, a long building with plenty of windows. He stepped out, waiting as Townsend leapt down behind him before closing and locking the door of the cab of his truck. Though it was days early for most of the contestants to arrive, there were several trucks and trailers scattered around the parking areas marked for big rigs. He studied the acres of asphalt and security lighting that fronted both the office building and the coliseum. Beyond were barns and paddock areas.
Cade felt more anxious than he’d anticipated he might in this moment. He’d moved the venue for the southeast circuit finals, initially amid protests from every other member of the board. It was a business decision and he’d convinced most of them he was right, especially when he’d shown them the math. Plain and simple, Montgomery, Alabama had more to offer in terms of convenience for the competitors as well as for their followers. The newly built coliseum could house twice the number of fans. Last year they’d lost significant revenue from having to turn away potential ticket-buyers which meant fewer customers for the vendors who were, in large part, their sponsors.
The city and surrounding area had things to offer as well. While there was little in the way of real tourist attractions, there were decent hotels and plenty of restaurants, even one or two that could boast fine dining. Despite his own good intentions, he pictured himself escorting Malone, dressed as she’d been the evening of the Hannas’ wedding, into one of the nicer establishments. He had a quick, unexpected vision of her as he’d last seen her, in jeans and boots, loading her mare onto the trailer and he smiled. He’d take Malone Summers anywhere in any attire.
For a moment, he wondered if thoughts of Malone had conjured an image of the black cat sitting at the door of the show office. But no, at his approach, the image stood and stretched and gave him a look that would have been withering under any circumstances. Cade felt a touch of humor as he realized the crushing look was directed at Townsend. His greater reaction, though, was sheer pleasure at the knowledge that Malone was somewhere close.
She was not, however, in the show office. His searching glance confirmed that. He turned his gaze on the cat, wondering, but only for a moment. Trouble could not possibly have known to watch for him here. The cat must have accompanied Malone when she checked in that morning and somehow lost track of her. Unlike Townsend, cats were independent cusses. That was probably the real reason he’d ended up in Malone’s rig to begin with. Cade would send Malone a quick text to let her know Trouble’s whereabouts as soon as he checked in with the staff.
Big grins greeted Cade as he stepped behind the long counter. His assistant, a tall red-head with unmatched efficiency, waved a sheet of paper. “We’re a sell-out, boss.” Aleta’s grin broadened. “You did it.”
Cade smiled in return, allowing himself to enjoy the moment with her. Tried and true rodeo fans had followed them to the new venue and they’d added new enthusiasts, doubling the potential profits for their sponsors. That would lead to increased sponsorships down the road. After a brief exchange with the team, who had a whirlwind few days in front of them as contestants arrived and checked in, he asked which office was his and was gestured toward a corner door. He headed that way, Townsend and Trouble close at his heels.
A stack of reports waited for him in the sizeable room Aleta had selected to serve as his office for the duration of the event. He took a moment to send Malone a text concerning Trouble’s current location before he settled into business. He hadn’t gotten far into the first report when his assistant tapped at his door, a curious expression on her face. “You’ve got a visitor, Mr. Delaney. May I show him in?”
A look of affront crossed her face as the visitor stepped past her and into the room without waiting for an invitation.
Despite the plain clothes, Cade recognized the crisp air of authority in every aspect of the man and said, “Thank you, Aleta. If you’d close the door ...”
The young woman gave him a searching look then nodded as if satisfied by his lack of alarm.
Cade gestured towards one of the chairs pushed into a corner. “How can I help you, Officer …?”
“Deputy U.S. Marshal James Ryder.” The man said the words simply, not officiously before he handed Cade his badge, not questioning the fact that Cade recognized had him as law enforcement.
After a cursory look, Cade handed it back. He gave the deputy marshal a longer look. He judged him to be in his late thirties to early forties with a decade or two of experience in piercing brown eyes.
Ryder pulled one of the chairs closer to Cade’s desk and sat down. He leaned back with a casual air clearly intended to be disarming.
“I understand you’re the director here.”
“I’m one of the directors of this association,” Cade agreed, “Director of Operations.” That title and the roles and responsibilities it carried put him in a lead position but Cade didn’t see a need to comment on the fact.
“So definitely a person who’d want to know about possible criminal activity within your rank and file.”
Cade glanced toward the black cat who now sat erect on the padded seat of the second chair. The tip of his tail, curled around him, twitched once as he returned Cade’s look. Not possible, Cade thought to himself. The cat’s movement and eye contact were coincidental and not a reaction to the comment. “I take it you don’t mean the routine barroom brawl with busted tables and broken glass and maybe a broken bone or two.”
“I don’t, no.”
“Names?”
Ryder hesitated. “Names can’t be a part of this discussion. It’s too early in the investigation with more unanswered than answered questions. That’s what I’m looking for now. Answers.” Cade had a feeling the marshal didn’t give names because he didn’t have them. He was fishing. “I’d like access to any information you have on your contestants and your vendors.”
Cade leaned back in his chair and stifled a sigh. “I can’t allow that.”
“Even though you know I can get them ...”
Ryder let the sentence trail off suggestively.
“... through proper channels and proper methods,” Cade finished for him.
Ryder did nothing to suppress his own exhalation of annoyance. “We’re not talking penny ante stuff here, Delaney.”
“Well then, ask me something I can answer or give me something I can do.”
The deputy marshal got to his feet and handed Cade a business card. “Call me if you see anything you don’t like.”
Cade almost laughed – would have if he weren’t feeling so grim inside – at the thought of all the things he’d witnessed over the years that he hadn’t liked. “Give me a clue where to focus, at least.”
Ryder gave him a hard look. “Trailers intended for horses and cattle can carry a hell of a lot more than livestock.”
“Drugs?”
“That’s the trail I’m following.”
“So why would a U.S. Marshal be involved in something typically handled by the DEA?”
“Because it’s tied to another investigation involving arms trafficking.”
“Which is the province of the ATF,” Cade prodded, knowing he was pushing his luck but, to his surprise, Ryder answered.
“Yeah, but I believe we can connect those crimes to an individual who’s eluded capture for nearly a year. And that one’s mine.”
This time Ryder didn’t wait for a response. Just nodded, turned and walked out the door.
Cade sat for a moment, wondering what in blazes had just been dumped in his lap with the worst possible timing. This event – these contestants – commanded and deserved every bit of his concentration and effort. Now this. Damn.
HERE WE GO, then. The hunt for the villain is on. Mr. Silver Eyes thinks he has clue number one handed to him by a pithy U.S. Marshal. My suspicion is that elite status belongs to the mysterious phone call from Tyge ‘whoever’ that left Ms. Rodeo so unnerved. Somehow, I must ensure she shares her alarm so these two can begin to piece their knowledge together. Which, of course, is why I waited here for his arrival. The more I know about his habits, the easier my work. And I believe it will be up to me to determine if somehow Joss doesn’t figure into this as the true clue numero uno. That is Italian for the number one for those less erudite than I. Not to be confused with the crass, common day usage for expressing one’s self interest.
I can sense the anger building as Mr. Silver Eyes taps the lawman’s business card against his desk. He gives me another of those steely, questioning glances as if he wished he could read my mind. As do I, when dealing with non-felines, so many times. Alas, mind-reading isn’t an ability in the humans I am called to assist. However, there are other means of communication and I am adept at finding those means at the appropriate place and time.
I suspect that Townie senses the tension as well. He watches his master and his tail swirls.
Ah, good, our man is standing and reaching for his hat, a fine western piece of attire in grey that carries the same cool tone as his eyes.
And out the door we go. Time for a bit of reconnoitering, a bit of action at last. Oomph! Well, my word, the Aussie is crowding me through the exit, his hair actually brushing against me. I pause to deliver my most imperious glare. Of course, it goes unheeded as the clumsy canine bounces onto the sidewalk with complete lack of finesse. He brushes against me once again and I growl softly. He hesitates at the warning then wags his tail with unwarranted enthusiasm. Hmph. Townie, indeed.
CADE STROLLED around the grounds with no particular destination in mind. The deputy marshal had given him far too much to think about and he needed to clear his mind. For now, the traffic remained light. In a day or two every available inch would be taken, vehicles would get blocked, problems would need solving, and tempers would need soothing. Fortunately, that coordination wasn’t his job. His was to ensure there were sufficient and competent staff whose job it was. He greeted the early arrivals by name but didn’t linger with any of them until he bumped into one of the stock contractors who’d been with the association at its inception.
Asa Morrissette had been one of the top steer wrestlers for a decade, taking the title three years running. A vehicle wreck had derailed his career and stolen his daughter from him. Afterward, he’d taken over his father’s ranch, turning the focus from beef cattle to stock contracting for the sport he loved more than anything, even the wife who’d given it her best shot before leaving for a man who had never been on a horse.
Cade and Asa weren’t bosom buddies but had that long-standing kind of friendship that allowed them to meet up after months, share a beer and a steak, and swap stories. They could comfortably enjoy each other’s company for an hour or two and part ways until the next time.
They exchanged greetings while Asa propped against the fender of his stock trailer and watched his oldest son ramrod the unloading of strong looking bulls with glossy coats and bright eyes. Unlike Asa who was rarely without a sports coat and button-down shirt paired with impeccable jeans, the younger Morrissette wore a long-sleeved tee-shirt with the name of a rock band blazoned across the back. His jeans were strategically faded with frayed hems over sharp looking boots.
“Joel has turned into quite a hand,” Cade commented. “How’s your father doing? Did he come with you?”
“No, not this year. He’s ornery as ever.” Asa sighed and added, “Failing a bit, though I don’t like owning up to that. He’s enjoyed his retirement so much, sits a horse as well and as often as ever. And he keeps a keen eye on my boys as they work, teaching them all he knows about cattle and loves doing it. But he’s lost weight lately and that worries me though doc says he’s stronger than most his age. Still, this is the first time he didn’t make this trip with me. Just ain’t like him, you know?”
They chatted a bit more about Asa’s dad and Cade’s parents before Cade circled the conversation closer to where he wanted it to go. “What do you think about the new group, Carlisle Contracting? Had much interaction with them?”
“Hauls the broncs only?” At Cade’s nod, he said, “They seem okay. Quiet bunch. Mostly gals, did you notice? Found that odd but guess that’s my age talking. Girls are taking over the world these days.”
Cade laughed. “Probably do a better job with it than some of us have, but, yeah, that’s the group. We signed them on less than a year ago. I’ve been trying to keep tabs on them. Haven’t heard any complaints from the contestants but don’t want to assume all is well simply because of that.”
Judging from Asa’s expression, Cade knew he hadn’t heard any complaints either, at least no more than the run of the mill gripes from those whose rides hadn’t turned out well.
Asa confirmed that with a shrug and said, “Seem to be providing solid, healthy stock. Don’t think you can ask more than that. At least not if their paperwork is clean.”
His tone and his glance turned questioning with that last comment and Cade was quick to reassure him. “Nothing of concern there. Business is legit and so are their dealings. They want a shot at the finals next year,” he added by way of explanation. “They’re on my ‘wait and see’ list but I haven’t ruled them out.” But they were the newest of the contractors and Cade knew the least about them on a personal level. Of course, Ryder had mentioned contestants as well as vendors but the association had hundreds of members. It wouldn’t be possible to dig into each one of them. All Cade could do was question where he could and keep his eyes open as the lawman had suggested.
Before Cade moved on, he said, “I heard the BlackJack has a mean porterhouse these days. Thought I’d check them out tonight.”
Asa smiled broadly. “Hot damn. About seven?”
“Sounds good. See you there.” Cade turned to leave but stopped when Asa spoke again.
“Uh, Cade?”
“Yeah?”
“Townsend’s looking good but when in blazes did you get a cat?”
Cade turned to glance at Trouble who was looking decidedly bored. “He belongs to a friend.”
“Well, huh.” Asa
rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Didn’t picture you for a cat-sitter. See you at the BlackJack.”
CAT SITTER! How offensive. The dog receives a compliment and I am tendered an affront. I suppose that simply indicates the low level of intelligence to be found in some humans. It is most fortunate that it is time to resume our excursion.
I find all things of some interest but bovine only in a limited capacity and only for a brief time. They have not the nobility of the equine. But they do have their uses and, by way of most excellent example, steak tartare is one of those.
It’s time we checked in with Ms. Rodeo so I must guide this entourage in that direction. With a nudge and a bump at Mr. Silver Eyes’ leg, I take the lead. Ahhh, it is so satisfying that he allows me to do so, following obediently in my wake. No doubt about it, he is coming to accept my elevated level of intelligence.
Good, he has spotted our rig – and I do find that an odd terminology for a truck and trailer. His step quickens and I lose my lead status. However, I am not the least concerned by the fact. My supremacy is evident in so many ways that I need no superficial evidence of the fact. Townsend remains sublimely happy to merely be in the presence of his master. I, however, have no master. My lovely Tammy Lynn is my supporter as I am her advisor. Our unique talents ever complement that of the other.
Before us is the competent Ms. Rodeo. It would seem she hasn’t been idle in my absence though I begin to suspect she is never truly idle. I watch as she effortlessly lifts a saddle from the back of a sleek looking animal, one of six that she has brought with her to ride here. I’ve learned that isn’t the norm as most riders have two, three at most, that are up to this level of competition. It is a testament to her ability that her clients trust her with the best of their best.
She glances our way and gives a civil hello to Mr. Silver Eyes. Civil and patently cool, though not as chill as the front that blows from the north. I flatten my ears at the unpleasant force, grateful for my healthy covering of fur while knowing tomorrow could dawn sunny and mild. That is one of the vagaries of the southern states. With no desire to settle on cold ground, I leap to a folding chair that I doubt anyone has spared more than a minute to relax upon.
Turning for Trouble: Book 7 of Cat Detective Familiar Legacy mystery series Page 5