“For once, Kevin might turn a blind eye at the expense report. He wants Connor to be happy. Getting Amber back safely might make a difference in his relationship with Olivia.”
Kenzie perused the original complaint filed in the Colorado District Court. “If Amber gets involved in the litigation, her goal would be to get the case settled, which presents an interesting dilemma. If this case has been used as precedent in future litigation, it could screw up jurisprudence well into the twenty-first century. She would know that, but would she care enough to put that before her family’s interest?”
“We’ve all experienced that dilemma, and none of us have been able to stand by and not interfere.”
Kenzie put the file back in the folder. “I’ll need a couple of days to get up to speed on this case.”
“Ye only have tonight, lass. Do the best ye can. What ye don’t finish, ye can take with ye. In the meantime, I’ll be investigating the paleontology angle.”
“How far have you gotten?”
David pointed to a stack of papers topped with a picture of a scary-looking creature with big teeth that resembled a friendly dinosaur in the twins’ toy collection. “I started Paleontology 101 about an hour ago. All I’ve learned so far is that dinosaurs were originally thought to be cold-blooded reptiles. The belief now is that they were warm-blooded. If Amber runs into Marsh or Cope—”
“She could fast-forward the field of paleontology by a century or more.”
“With the exception of Braham’s attempt to save Abraham Lincoln, this adventure has the potential of having the biggest impact on history.”
Kenzie finished the rest of David’s drink. The smooth golden liquor settled with a glow in her stomach, and she sighed. “The way I see it, we have to stop her.”
David hefted another expandable folder from a drawer and added it to her stack of folders. “Aye, we do. But first we have to find her.”
13
The Present, Hughes Cabin, Colorado—Connor
The next morning, as the sky was lightening from impenetrable black to a darkling gray, the shapes of the mountains began to stand in proper relief against the sky. Another gloomy day. Another day full of lies and deceptions. Another day to fall farther into a trap Connor would likely never escape. When had he become such a pessimist? He could narrow it down to the last twenty-four hours.
He shook his head in disgust and hunkered down at the table reading The New York Times on his smartphone while enjoying a freeze-dried breakfast—scrambled eggs, bacon, cinnamon rolls, and blueberries. Olivia joined him in the kitchen. One look at her tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and practical flannel pajamas, and he had one thought that was impossible to scrub from his man brain.
“I’m a terrible hostess. You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late. How long have you been up?”
“It’s only eight o’clock here. I’m still on Eastern time.” His eyes returned quickly to his phone. Looking at her was killing him. He had tossed all night, unable to get her out of his mind, knowing she was sleeping on the other side of the wall. “I’ve been up for a while.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and ate his blueberries.
She reached for the coffee pot on the stove and poured a cup. “Looks like you figured out how to make coffee and rehydrate food.”
“I’m getting one of these hydrating food machines.” He picked up the bag the berries came in and shook it for emphasis. “If I had cupboards filled with these, I wouldn’t have to throw out food that spoiled while I was traveling.”
She laughed, and it was deep and throaty, and he liked the sound of it, especially in the morning. “The machines don’t cook the food, Amber does, and she’s an awesome cook.” Olivia’s breath hitched, and her eyes seemed to darken at the mention of her sister.
Trying to draw Olivia back from her dark thoughts, he said, “I’m not a crazy foodie. Irish stew, colcannon, beef and Guinness pie aren’t considered fine cuisine. But wait until you taste Maria Ricci’s cooking.”
“Who is she?”
“My dad’s companion. Maria doesn’t push the envelope with creativity like Amber, but she can cook Italian cuisine as well as any of the top chefs in Palermo or Modena or Florence.”
“We’ll have to get her and Amber together to swap recipes.”
Connor rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maria is very secretive when it comes to her recipes. She and Elliott Fraser’s longtime cook, Mrs. Collins, are still dancing around each other in the kitchen. It’s funny to watch.”
The mucky sound of hooves sloshing through mud drew Olivia to the window, and Connor to his feet, his gun drawn. “Stay back until I know who it is.”
She flattened against the wall while Connor lifted an edge of the curtain to see without being seen.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“If it was the nineteenth century, I’d say it was a posse—a dozen men dressed in heavy dusters and cowboy hats. But I don’t see any tin stars on their chests.”
She lifted the other side of the curtain. “The man on the roan horse with the white markings is Sheriff Hall. Will you talk to him while I get dressed? I didn’t think he was coming today.”
Connor dropped the curtain and holstered his gun. “Probably didn’t sit well with him that a former NYPD detective was doing his job.”
He picked up the curtain again and studied the man before he went out to meet him. The face of the sheriff, who was a large, full-chested man with graying hair and a short-cropped beard, was settled into cool impassivity. Connor instantly disliked him. Men with that kind of apathy didn’t need to be working for the public.
The sheriff rode in as though he’d been born on the horse’s back and had never once dismounted. He neared the cabin, and when he was almost adjacent to the horse trough, he reined to a stop. Connor could have sworn he’d seen the same scene in a western movie.
Casually resting both hands on the saddle horn, the sheriff took in the layout of the yard and outbuildings before dismounting and loosening the cinch, so the roan could breathe easily.
Connor counted slowly to ten and then even slower to ten again. He didn’t want to give the impression he was relieved the cavalry had arrived. Because he wasn’t. He had hoped to get Amber home before the sheriff showed up.
After sufficient time had passed, Connor walked out to meet the sheriff, and a brief and almost hostile glance passed between them. While the others watered their horses, the sheriff stepped up on the porch, chewing a toothpick, which was kept in constant motion, up and down, side to side, end over end. Gum and toothpick chewers annoyed the hell out of Connor. If the assholes had unresolved oral needs, they should smoke a cigar like a real man.
Pops would expect his son to check his attitude and exchange it for a professional one. It wasn’t easy, but for his dad, he did. Even as a grown man, Connor strove to live up to his dad’s expectations. One day, he intended to instill that same respect in his own children.
“Morning, Sheriff. What brings you up here today?”
The sheriff tipped his head back to eye Connor from under the brim of his hat, and in a slow-drawling voice said, “I talked to the Chief of the Colorado State Patrol after I got off the phone with you last night. They’re sending an investigative team up this morning.”
Connor crossed his arms and hitched his hip against the porch rail. “You didn’t sound that concerned when we spoke. I’m surprised you called them.”
“I talked to my deputy. He said he could get a search party together ready to ride this morning. You and Olivia are welcome to go with us. Is she still here?”
The fact that the sheriff didn’t answer his question didn’t go unnoticed. “She’ll be out in a minute. Where’s the forensic team coming from? Denver?”
The sheriff flicked the toothpick out into the yard. “Don’t think I mentioned a forensic team.”
Olivia joined them on the porch. She had dressed in jeans and smelled of soap. Her shoulder-length hair was p
ulled back in a ponytail. “Morning, Sheriff. Glad you’re here.” She pulled on her gloves, flexing her fingers to cement the fit. “If you’ll give me a few minutes to see to the horses, we’ll go out with you and your team.”
Another toothpick materialized, and he worked it furiously up and down. It occurred to Connor that the wooden picks were the sheriff’s signature feature. Not the badge. Not the gun. Not the job title.
“I thought we’d ride down toward the cave,” the sheriff said.
“We were going there yesterday but it was raining too hard,” Olivia said.
“According to the sheriff,” Connor said, “the Colorado State Patrol’s coming up.” Then he turned his gaze back to the sheriff. “Do you have a warrant to search the premises?” Connor didn’t care if the sheriff had a warrant or not. He wasn’t going to stop anyone from going inside. There had been no foul play and there was nothing to hide, but if the sheriff was going to act like an asshat, so would Connor.
Sorry, Dad.
If a glare had the force of a .45, Connor would be dead, a bullet hole in his chest. “They’ll have a warrant.”
No one moved while Olivia glanced at them. First at the sheriff, then at Connor. The stress and tension responsible for the dark circles beneath her eyes now held her neck and shoulders bowstring tight, and fear seemed to coalesce with her frustration.
“Why do they need a warrant?” she asked.
Connor positioned himself to catch, grab, or protect Olivia depending on her reaction. “To search a possible crime scene.”
Her look was veiled at first, then she gasped in soundless horror. “In the cabin? Amber wasn’t hurt inside. She’s out there somewhere.” Olivia swung her arm to encompass the yard and beyond. “They’ll waste time looking here, and too much time has already been wasted.”
Connor’s fingers stiffened and curled in toward his palms instead of reaching out to comfort her. When Amber returned later today with David and Kenzie, Olivia would remember this moment and blame him for putting her through hell.
“Olivia,” he said gently. “The State Patrol has to rule out the possibility that Amber was hurt inside the cabin.”
She winced and dragged her hands down her face. “There was no blood, no evidence of a fight, no broken glass. If there had been an altercation, we would have seen evidence of it.” Then her keen eyes challenged the sheriff and pointed toward the door. “Whatever happened to my sister didn’t happen in there.”
Connor drew in a long breath, let it out. Olivia was wrong. Whatever happened to Amber had occurred inside the cabin. The faint odor of peat confirmed that.
“Did you find any evidence that she spent much time in the cabin when she arrived Saturday. Did she rest? Eat? Unpack? Anything?” the sheriff asked.
“A piece of the loom had broken off and we believe she found a puzzle box inside the breast beam. Her backpack was open, and she had unrolled her field kit and removed a few tools. The beds were made and there weren’t any dirty dishes.”
The sheriff removed the toothpick and pointed it at her as if it were a tiny wooden sword. “Do you think she broke the loom?”
Olivia rubbed her forehead the way one does with a pounding headache. But Connor knew it wasn’t a headache pounding her head. It was the pressure of uncertainty, fear, confusion. On reflection, he should have insisted on a family meeting for an up or down vote on whether to bring Olivia into the fold.
“A few weeks ago, we tried to move it closer to the window. We must have loosened the piece. She could have bumped it, or it could have just fallen off.”
“Do you have any idea what could have been in the puzzle box?”
Olivia shrugged. “Maybe the forensic team can figure it out. Isn’t that what they do?”
“Where is it now?”
Connor had decided not to close the box in case David needed additional pictures. Now he wished he had. Whose prints would they find, and what trace evidence would be discovered inside the box? He needed to talk to David. No one outside the family had come this close to a brooch before, except Lillian Russell and a half-dozen other people in 1909 New York City. But they’d only been interested in the brooch’s large diamond.
“The box is on the mantel,” she said.
Connor checked the time. “I assume you don’t intend to leave before the State Patrol arrives.” He tried to keep his dislike for the sheriff out of his voice, but doubted he succeeded.
The sheriff’s glance swung directly on him. “We’ll wait. I’m surprised they aren’t already here.”
“Your men can wait in the barn. Would they like coffee?” Olivia asked.
“Thanks for the offer. We have our own provisions.” He gestured with his chin. “I’ll be out there with my men.” With no further comment, he stepped away, making a show of pointing to his men and giving them hand signals, which they acknowledged with nods and signals of their own.
Connor followed Olivia back inside. “I’ve got a few calls to make. Are you okay?”
She whipped around to face him, hands on her small waist, drawing attention to her hourglass figure. God, she was beautiful.
“I want to know your opinion. I’ve done research on you. I’ve read articles in the New York papers about cases you’ve worked on, and about your family. I trust you, Connor. Tell me right now, what do you think has happened to Amber?”
He already knew she’d Googled him but reading up on cases he’d worked during his tenure with the NYPD showed a deeper level of interest. He saw that as a positive, but what good would it do him after this was all over and the truth came out.
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, tugged on his chin, thinking or delaying, he wasn’t sure. “I think she’s in some trouble.” Now he scratched his whiskers. Every word he said, she’d throw back at him later. “But she’ll be okay, and if I had to bet…” He took a deep breath, this was the big one that would be thrown in his face along with a slap. “I’d bet she’ll be home by tonight.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because she’s always come home before, right?” He should just shut up because all he was doing was digging a hole and stepping deeper into it. “And that’s my gut reaction. Let the State Patrol come in, do their thing, and we’ll ride out with the sheriff. That’s all we can do for now.”
Something like hope flashed across Olivia’s face before her expression settled into guardedness. Quietly, she moved to stand against the doorjamb and stared out into the yard. “If we’re going to talk about our guts, I’ll tell you what mine says. Amber is in trouble and what’s gotten her out of trouble all her life isn’t working for her now. And if she doesn’t get help soon, I might never see her again.”
“You’re overreacting.” As soon as the words popped out of Connor’s mouth, he cringed. It was too late to reel them back in or to even hope she hadn’t heard him.
Her face turned blood red. “Overreacting?” She curled her hands into fists. “I thought you were on my side.”
He flung his arms in frustration, and for a moment he thought they had really come loose from his shoulders and were circling around, planning a direct attack to beat the crap out of himself.
“There aren’t multiple sides here, Olivia. There’s just one—Amber.”
She gave him the look. All men knew the look. It was the expression that said men were the stupidest of all God’s creations, and for the second time in less than fifteen minutes, he was shot with an imaginary .45. This time to his man brain. He instinctively tugged on the hem of his shirt to cover his groin.
“You’re all a bunch of pint-sized brains stuffed in big hats.” She snagged a poncho off the hook. “I’m going to the barn to saddle the horses.” She whirled around and marched out.
He paced the room, carving canals through his thick unruly waves. First one side, then the other, then both sides together. “Damn woman.” He should have just said, “Amber found a magical brooch in the puzzle box and time traveled back to the nin
eteenth century. But she’ll be okay because my friends are using another magical brooch to go back and get her.”
He sat down in the rocker and put his head in his hands. How could anything get so screwed up? He’d been afraid to ask her out. Now, after this, he’d be afraid to even say hello.
He took a moment to analyze the situation. Was he blowing the craziness out of proportion? Was he the one overreacting? No matter which way he looked at it, he knew he was doing the right thing for the family, although maybe not the right thing for himself. He had a secret to protect at all cost, even if it meant Olivia would never speak to him again. As for the sheriff, he was just being an asshole, first saying he wasn’t coming and then showing up with the State Patrol in tow. It screamed intimidation.
When Connor got his anger under control, he called David. “The sheriff and a search party just arrived. The State Patrol is on its way with a search warrant. I’m struggling with whether I should tell Olivia the truth. What do you think?”
“Don’t. She won’t believe ye and she’ll tell the sheriff about yer dumbass idea.”
He didn’t like David’s response, but on the org chart, David was his superior. After a decade as a police officer and his time in the Marines, Connor understood levels of command. If he didn’t like his orders, he could appeal to Elliott, but today, that would be a mistake. Elliott had his wife and the winery to worry about. Olivia’s problems ranked low on the company’s list of priorities.
“Okay. So what’s happening there? What’s the latest from Napa?” Connor asked.
“Everyone safely evacuated late yesterday afternoon. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet,” David said.
“Where are my brothers and Pete?”
“They drove the horses to Reno last night. Today they’re taking them to McCann Ranch there in Colorado. Are ye and Olivia going out with the sheriff to look for Amber this morning?”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 17