by Rebecca York
“Boone, what happened?” the sheriff puffed.
“It looks like Anderson had a brain snap. He tried to kill me, and I shot him in self-defense.” Fowler raised his head. “Riley here saw it all. He can back me up.”
“Yeah,” Riley answered, almost gagging on the lie.
“What were you doing here?” Pennington asked.
“I came into town to take Ms. Rogers to the grocery store. She was coming out when the shooting started. I circled around to get the guy’s attention. But he spotted Boone first.”
Pennington turned back to Fowler. “Why’d he go after you?”
“He wanted to take my place in the organization.”
The sheriff whistled through his teeth.
Other people had begun to come from wherever they’d hidden when the shooting started.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Fowler said in a low voice.
Pennington gave him a small nod, then spoke for the benefit of the crowd. “You two need to come down to the office to make a statement. And I need to call the coroner’s office.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number.
Riley still couldn’t believe how Fowler had managed to get Pennington in his pocket. Either he had something big he was blackmailing the sheriff with, or the lawman was just too cowardly to cross him. Either way, there was no doubt who was really running this town.
Riley turned to Fowler. “I’d better make sure Ms. Rogers is okay.”
“What…! You’re all concerned about her?”
“I want to keep my job. Tell Pennington I’ll meet you at the office.”
Before the sheriff could object, he turned and hurried back to the grocery store, where he found a crowd of worried people gathered near the door. Courtney was among them.
“I thought I told you to stay inside,” Riley clipped out.
At the sound of his voice, relief suffused her features. “Riley, thank the Lord.”
She rushed to him, then stopped, apparently mindful that a bunch of bystanders was now staring at them.
He wanted to clasp her tightly in his arms. She looked like she had the same thing in mind. But they merely stood facing each other, arms at their sides.
He glanced around at the anxious faces. “Apparently one of Fowler’s guys…wigged out,” he said. “He’s dead now.”
“There was a lot of shooting,” somebody called out. “What happened?”
Riley addressed the onlooker. “Fowler nailed him. Sheriff Pennington is taking care of things.”
Someone snickered. “Oh, yeah. Now that the shooting’s stopped.”
Apparently the citizens of Spur City had a pretty low opinion of the lawman.
Some people hurried off in the direction from which Riley had come. He didn’t stop them. Let the sheriff take care of crowd control.
Murmurs came from the bystanders. Riley turned back to Courtney and lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
He nodded. “But I’ve got to go give a statement to the sheriff—since I was there when it happened. Really, I shouldn’t have left the scene. But I wanted to make sure you were okay. I don’t know how long I’m going to be. You’d better go on home.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “What about you?”
“I’ll catch a ride.”
“With whom?” she said, her voice turning sharp. And he was pretty sure she was picturing him cozying up to Fowler.
He was thinking the same thing. Anderson had handed him a golden opportunity. But he wasn’t going to share that observation with Courtney.
He turned his hands palm up. “I can’t stand here talking. I have to get back there before Pennington comes looking for me.”
With that excuse, he turned and strode back to the shooting scene.
The sheriff looked up as he returned. “Nice of you to join us.”
“I had business to take care of.”
When a deputy arrived, he ushered them to the sheriff’s office, where Riley and Fowler both wrote out what had happened. Riley knew that they should have been put in separate rooms. But Fowler sat at the sheriff’s desk, and Riley sat in one of his guest chairs—using a stack of gun magazines as a writing surface, spewing out the scenario Fowler had suggested. A couple of times, the militia leader asked him questions be fore he wrote. And two of his men came in to make comments, adding details he could use.
After Pennington came in and read the statements, he told them they could go.
“You said you drove to town with Ms. Rogers,” Fowler said. “You need a ride home?”
“Yeah.”
“That will give us a chance to talk.”
Riley nodded as he followed Fowler to an SUV parked down the street. The inside reeked of cigarette smoke, and the ashtray overflowed. Fowler emptied it beside the car door before they pulled away and headed in the direction of the ranch.
“You’re a good man to have in a fight,” he said to Riley.
“I try.”
“Army training?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.” He laughed. “The good old U.S. Army taught me everything I know.”
Riley joined in the laughter, hoping he sounded as jolly as the militia leader.
“Anderson started off okay,” Fowler went on. “But he overestimated his own importance. Then he started challenging me. You heard him the other day at the bar.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Before we got you out of jail, he told me you were a hothead.” Fowler laughed. “He was the hothead.”
“Apparently,” Riley agreed.
“So how would you like to be my second in command?” Fowler asked.
“I’m flattered, of course.”
“Think about it seriously.” Fowler cleared his throat. “How did you like the prince’s speech?”
“He’s a good speaker. I didn’t much like his message.”
“You can say that again. We’ve got a plan to fix his wagon.”
“What?”
“You know how our troops just carried out a surgical strike in Lukinburg? To get some of the top guys in their government.”
“I don’t keep up with the news.”
“You should.”
“There’s only one television set in the bunkhouse. And we don’t get the paper out at the ranch.”
“You need to keep informed.”
“What’s your point about the attack in Lukinburg?” Riley asked.
Fowler took his eyes off the road for a moment. “We’re going to do the same thing here.”
Riley whistled through his teeth. “We? As in you and your men?”
“Yup.”
“And how are you going to pull that off?”
“You know that battered-women’s shelter that they’re opening in town tomorrow night?”
Riley nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“We’re going to attack it.” He grinned. “We’ll kill a bunch of local officials. But better than that—we’re going to get the first lady of the United States.”
Riley felt like he’d been sucker punched in the gut. He didn’t have to fake astonishment when he said, “Whoa! You’d better explain that.”
“It’s one of her good works. She’s a sponsor of the shelter. And she’s coming to the grand opening. That’s supposed to be a big freaking secret. But of course Pennington knows about it, and he told us.”
Riley managed to say, “How are you going to pull off the attack?”
“We’ve got advance information.”
“From whom?”
“I’ll just keep that to myself for the time being. The important point is that we sneak up on the place and let them have it.”
“Like how exactly?”
“I never give out my plans until we’re ready to go.”
“Smart,” Riley answered, inwardly cursing. “You’ve got a devious mind.”
“Thanks. You’re with us, right?”
“Of course.”
“I was counting on you.”
“How many guys are you bringing?” Riley asked.
“All fifteen of us. Just to make sure it goes off as planned.”
“Good.”
“The shelter is in an isolated location. So we can hide out in the woods.”
“Won’t the Secret Service be there?”
“Yeah. But so what? They won’t be expecting anything funny in a backwater Montana town. And they don’t know how to handle themselves out here in the wilderness.”
“True.” He kept his voice even, but he was thinking he had to get this information to Big Sky immediately. “So what do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I’ll determine that. But you see why I can’t let you go back to the ranch?”
At the casually spoken words, Riley’s gut clenched. “Yeah. I see,” he said carefully. He’d just found out a great deal of mind-blowing information, and he had no idea how he was going to tell Big Sky—or Courtney Rogers, for that matter.
“You’ll stay with us until tomorrow. Then we’ll all leave together.”
“So you don’t trust me?”
“I want to. But I have to be careful, you know.”
“Understood.”
They had reached the entrance to the ranch, and Fowler drove past—then took the lane he’d drawn on the map several days earlier.
Riley sat next to him, feeling sick, wondering what the hell he was going to do now.
FOWLER HEADED UP A ROAD that was even worse than the main entrance to the ranch.
“I left my stuff in the bunkhouse,” Riley said.
“We can buy you new things after this operation. For now we’ve got standard-issue fatigues. You can borrow a uniform.”
“And a gun?” Riley inquired.
“You’ll be issued a sidearm—when we leave for the women’s shelter.”
“Okay.”
Fowler pulled up in front of a collection of weathered buildings that Courtney had said her father had built as a camp.
“A little primitive,” Fowler said as he watched Riley eyeing the militia headquarters. “But I’m expecting to move to more upscale digs soon.”
“How come?”
“We’ve got a line on better financing.”
As Fowler pulled up, several men dressed in army fatigues came out of the building and eyed Riley. They didn’t look surprised, and he figured that the guys who had come to town with Fowler had already reported the big news.
The men gathered around, and the militia leader told how Anderson had tried to kill him—and Riley had risked his life in the gun battle.
Establishing his credentials as a tough guy was a great introduction to the group.
He met the gang, some of whom he had already encountered at the bar the other morning. Tipton and Drake and Walters stood out in his mind as being particularly ruthless.
And he wasn’t all that surprised to meet a guy with a scar on his face—a man named Nichols. Courtney’s former ranch hand. As Riley had suspected, the scumbag had joined the bad guys.
Riley struggled to act natural, when his mind was desperately scrambling for a way to get a message to Big Sky.
That wouldn’t be anytime soon, because it was obvious the men were watching him. And even though Fowler was acting friendly, Riley knew he didn’t totally trust his new recruit.
COURTNEY LOOKED DOWN the road, watching and waiting for Riley. It was getting dark now, and she had been expecting him long ago.
How much time could it take to write out a report of the shooting?
She didn’t know. But five hours seemed excessive.
So where was he now? She paced back and forth in front of the window, then put on her coat and went outside.
Maybe he was in trouble. Maybe Pennington had made up some charge and put Riley in jail. Could he be the one charged with the killing?
She clenched her gloved hands into fists, worry and anger warring inside of her.
What if he’d gone off somewhere to have a couple of drinks with Fowler? What if he’d gotten drunk again? Maybe that was the reason Pennington was holding him. Only this time it would be worse, because it was his second offense in town.
“Stop it,” she ordered herself. “You’re making things up. He’s not in jail. He’ll be back soon.”
Billy crossed the ranch yard and stopped a few yards from her. “Go in and have a cup of tea. I’ll let you know when Riley comes home.”
Apparently her worry was obvious. She nodded and went back into the house. But she didn’t want the tea. Instead she turned off the living room light and opened the blinds so she could stare out into the night, looking for headlights.
In the darkened room, she dozed off.
Then a knock at the door made her jump. Scrambling out of her chair, she swayed on unsteady legs and had to reach out a hand to catch herself.
The knock sounded again, this time more insistent.
“I’ll be right there,” she called out.
When she felt more stable, she hurried across the room and into the hall, where she switched on the light and threw open the door, ready to hurl sharp words at Riley for making her worry about him.
But she found Jake standing on the porch, a smug expression on his lined face.
“What?” she demanded, stepping aside so he could come in out of the cold. From the way he looked, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
He closed the door behind him, then turned to face her. “I went into town,” he said. “To look for Watson.”
“And?”
“And he left with that Boone Fowler guy.”
“Get to the point,” she snapped.
“I asked around. A couple of the lowlife militia guys came into town later. They say Watson joined them.”
“You mean they’re not environmentalists?”
“Afraid not.”
Chapter Thirteen
Courtney caught her breath. “Riley Watson is out at the militia camp?” she asked, hardly able to wrap her mind around the concept.
“And he’s going to stay with those guys,” Jake added. “Or…that’s the way they tell it.”
Courtney struggled to catch her breath. Feeling dizzy, she steadied herself against the wall.
Jake folded his lips over his teeth. “I’m sorry to bring you the bad news.”
“No you’re not. You’re happy about it,” Courtney retorted.
Jake shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I never liked the guy. I’m glad you’re rid of him.”
“I…” She was about to say she needed Riley. But she stopped herself before she said anything she was going to regret.
“Thank you for telling me,” she managed.
“What do you want me to do with his stuff?”
“Leave it where it is. If he wants it, he can come back for it,” Courtney whispered, knowing that if she spoke louder she might start to cry.
“I’ll go on now.” Mercifully, Jake turned and left her alone before she made a fool of herself.
She said nothing, only watched him leave. As he closed the door, tears slipped down her cheeks.
She had entertained fantasies about Riley Watson. And she had made love with him. She would never have done that if she hadn’t cared about him, but he’d crawled under her defenses all too easily. Well, that just went to prove that she was wonderful at picking the wrong men.
Making herself vulnerable to Riley had been a big mistake. She’d been a fool to think that anything could come of that. And a fool to trust him.
The moment he got a better offer, he had bailed out. Probably he was out at Fowler’s compound telling stories about how he’d gotten into her pants.
So she’d better stop making up fairy stories about how he was going to stay here and help her raise her daughter.
BOONE FOWLER HIMSELF showed Riley around the militia compound, pointing out the high points of his domain with pride.
Riley hoped he sounded i
mpressed—and interested in this two-bit operation—when his insides were jumping like a bullfrog on a hot griddle.
He was pretty sure Courtney was worried about him. Or mad as hell that he hadn’t come back to the ranch. Knowing he’d hurt her made him sick. But he had no other option. His assignment was to get in solid with the militia leader, and he’d done that.
So he played eager new recruit, making noises about Fowler’s impressive arsenal and the state of readiness of his troops while he watched for a chance to be alone.
As he toured the compound, he saw that the living arrangements vastly complicated his problem. There was no privacy.
Fowler showed him to a dingy bedroom that he’d have to share with three other guys. And he saw that all the troops ate in a communal mess hall.
He knew he’d get caught if he tried to sneak away at night. So what the hell was he going to do?
He got a lucky break after weapons training and before dinner in the mess hall.
“So where’s the men’s room?” he asked the guy named Walters. “I haven’t seen a pot to piss in. Are we supposed to go in the woods?”
“We got an outhouse out back. And there’s a couple of cold water faucets in the wash shed.”
Riley’s nose wrinkled. “Pretty primitive.”
“It builds character. You get used to it,” Walters said.
Riley repaired to the outside toilet facility and closed the door. The moment he was alone, he called Big Sky.
The colonel answered the phone immediately. “I hear there was a shooting in Spur City.”
“I don’t have time for chitchat. One of Fowler’s men started shooting at him. And I saved the head honcho’s life. He took me back to the compound with him. I’m talking from the only place where I can get any privacy. The outhouse.”
The colonel snickered.
“I wish it were funny.” He gave Murphy a quick summary of what was going down at the battered-women’s shelter—including the information that the first lady of the United States was the surprise guest of honor.
The colonel whistled through his teeth.
“Be there,” Riley gave his commander an order.
“We will.”
“One more thing—Fowler is getting backing from someone with money.”
“Did he confirm that it’s King Aleksandr Petrov…or anyone else?”