by Laura Scott
Duncan and Colt hovered around Slade. “Who is that next to Nettles?” Duncan asked.
“According to the local newspaper, he’s multimillionaire Travis Wolfe. Almost makes you wonder if good ole Travis isn’t the brains behind Elkhorn Estates.”
“Chelsey?” Duncan called. When she glanced at him, he gestured for her to come over. “Do you recognize this guy?”
She came over to peer at the photograph. “Yes, I’ve seen him before.”
“When?” Duncan asked.
“I think he and Elroy Lansing were having dinner in our restaurant recently. I remember because their tab was well over $250 for two people and our server was gushing over the generous tip.”
“That gives some credence to the possibility that Wolfe is the brains behind Elkhorn Estates,” Slade said.
“But how is that connected to Coyote Creek Construction?” Chelsey asked.
“Maybe Coyote Creek Construction was going to be awarded a very lucrative contract to perform all the building associated with the new homes located within Elkhorn Estates?” Duncan offered. He pinned Slade and Colt with his gaze. “Are we sure this is all related to organized crime? Could be just plain and simple greed.”
Slade hesitated and shrugged. “It was the locals who insisted they were looking at a potential organized crime ring. Otherwise why bother to get the feds involved at all?”
It was a good point and one Duncan wasn’t sure how to answer.
They already suspected that someone within the Jackson Police Department was leaking information, so why would they want to involve the feds?
It was a mystery for sure, and one that he was beginning to doubt they’d ever solve.
* * *
Chelsey was glad to be able to contribute something to the investigation. As she made lunch for the group, she tried to remember if she’d noticed anyone else meeting over dinner at the hotel restaurant.
The faces were all a blur.
How many other deals had been struck under her clueless nose?
“Something smells good, Chelsey,” Slade said with a smile. He was a nice guy, jet black hair cut short beneath his cowboy hat, which he’d taken off while inside.
“Almost ready,” she promised.
Colt’s hair was as light as Slade’s was dark. Colt was slender and tall while Slade was broader across the shoulders. The two men seemed intent on seeing to her safety, and as much as she appreciated their efforts, she wished she could go back to her life as she knew it.
Which was a useless thought.
When two grilled ham and cheese sandwiches were ready, she slid them onto a plate and set it in the center of the table, then prepared to make more.
By the time they’d all finished eating the hour was early afternoon. She was in the process of cleaning the kitchen when a shrieking alarm went off with enough force to pierce eardrums.
“What is that?” she asked, trying to be heard above the noise.
“Car alarm.” Colt pulled his weapon and opened the front door of the cabin just enough to see outside. “It’s equipped to go off when anyone touches the vehicle.”
Chelsey frowned. That seemed a little overkill considering anyone could brush up against a car.
“Let’s check it out,” Slade said, joining Colt at the door. The two men eased outside.
Duncan locked the door behind them, then crossed over to stand beside her. They didn’t try to talk—it was impossible to carry on a conversation over the screaming alarm.
The sound stopped as abruptly as it started. Chelsey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and rubbed her ears. “That hurt.”
“Yeah.” Duncan’s expression was serious. “But it’s nice to have.”
“I would think it gives off false alarms more often than helping,” she argued. “I mean, come on, who’s to say a dog didn’t run past the vehicle and thump it with his tail?”
“And who’s to say it wasn’t someone with malicious intent?” Duncan retorted. “I’d rather have a half-dozen false alarms if it scares away one bad guy.”
Maybe he was right. This wasn’t the world she normally lived in. Worrying about bad guys and hiding from murderers had never so much as blipped on her radar screen.
Until now.
After what seemed like forever, the two US marshals came back inside the cabin, twin grim expressions marring their features.
Colt held up a small circular device. “Someone tried to put a tracker on the SUV.”
A tracker? She stared at the thing in horror.
“We need to get out of here.” Duncan’s tone held a hint of anger.
“We agreed to wait until dark,” Slade countered. “And waiting will only make it more difficult to track us by sight.”
“I’ve reengaged the car alarm,” Colt added. “They won’t make the mistake of trying to put a GPS device on again.”
“I don’t like it, Slade. We’re sitting ducks here, and they know it.” Tension radiated off Duncan. She placed a reassuring hand on his arm.
“We’re also in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming.” Slade spread his hands. “There isn’t a lot of traffic out here. We could be easily tailed back to Jackson.”
“They may guess we’re heading there anyway,” Colt said. “I mean, there’s only so many places to go on this side of the state. If we were closer to one of the bigger cites, like Laramie or Cheyenne, it would be easier to disappear.”
Duncan straightened beside her. “Can we swing by Jackson, then hit the highway toward one of those larger cities?”
She tightened her grasp on his arm. “Duncan, both Laramie and Cheyenne are on the opposite side of the state without a lot of ways to get there. Wyoming is all about wide-open spaces.”
He grimaced. “Okay, so what is the alternative? Fly out of Jackson?”
The two US marshals exchanged a look. “We might be able to make that an option,” Slade said slowly. “The airport is tiny, but we can hire a private prop plane to get us out of there before anyone is the wiser.”
“Could work,” Colt agreed. “I’ll make those arrangements.”
The tension eased out of Duncan. “Good. I like that plan.”
Chelsey frowned. “We’re all going to fly out together?”
Duncan looked at her in surprise. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“I just meant, you’re free to go home anytime, Duncan.” She had to force herself to stay the words. “I know you asked your boss for extra time off work, but you have a life back in Milwaukee. A job, your family.”
Duncan turned so that they were facing each other. “I’m not leaving you until I know you’re safe, Chelsey.”
Beyond Duncan’s shoulder she could see the US marshals had moved off to the side to talk in private. No doubt, making plans about when to cut Duncan loose.
She’d always known it would happen sooner or later. Her desire to have him stay was her problem, not his. The only good thing about entering witness protection was that she wasn’t leaving her parents behind. She didn’t have siblings, and no extended family, either.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Duncan said in a low voice.
The urge to throw herself into his arms was strong. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to take one step back, then another.
“Excuse me, I need to find the bathroom.” A lame excuse, maybe, but one that ensured Duncan wouldn’t try to follow her.
She ducked into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Now that the point of losing Duncan forever was near, she could hardly bear it.
Tears threatened. She swiped at her eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to ward them off.
She splashed cold water on her face to hide the evidence of her distress, burying her face in a towel that smelled of laundry soap.
Enough
. She’d be fine. She’d do this. God would show her the way.
Bolstered by the thought, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door. A dark shape caught the corner of her eye. Someone was in the bedroom!
“Duncan!” As his name left her lips, a man lunged at her, his strong hands digging into her flesh. She clawed at him, hoping and praying he didn’t have a gun.
Duncan rushed forward first, followed by the two marshals. They quickly wrestled the guy off her, pinning him to the floor.
She eased backward, her heart hammering in her chest, her breathing uneven. Being grabbed like that had been more frightening than being shot at from a distance. She lifted a trembling hand to finger the fresh scratches on her face and neck.
If she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him, he would have gotten to her before she could react. If he’d gotten her out of the cabin, where would they have gone?
She didn’t want to imagine how that scenario might have played out.
“Who are you? Who sent you?” Duncan peppered the guy with questions as Slade tossed the guy’s weapon aside and yanked his arms behind him to handcuff his wrists. Colt went into the bedroom where they guy had gotten in through a window, and quickly locked the door to prevent anyone else from getting inside.
The man sneered but didn’t say a word.
“You’ll want to cooperate with us,” Slade said in a low voice. “Think about it for a moment. I’m sure that gun of yours will match ballistics of at least one unsolved crime, maybe more, which means you’re going to be in federal prison for a long, long time.”
The guy muttered something harsh and nasty under his breath.
“See, that’s not going to help you,” Slade drawled. “Let’s try again. Who are you and who hired you to come after Chelsey?”
The captured guy didn’t speak for a long moment. Finally he said, “I’m just a low man on the totem pole.”
“Yeah, we already figured that out,” Duncan said in a harsh tone. “After all, you failed to get Chelsey, didn’t you? Once we put your mug shot out there for everyone to see, your boss will know you’ve failed him.”
The guy’s face turned beet red. “Fine, it was Wesley Strand who hired me to get the girl.”
“To get the girl? Or to kill her?” Duncan asked.
The guy turned and looked directly at Chelsey. A ripple of fear skittered down her spine at the sheer hatred in his eyes.
Never in her life had she been targeted by men who didn’t hesitate to kill to get what they wanted.
But looking at this man, she knew he’d intended to kill her. And that he was only sorry about getting caught.
TWELVE
“To get her, or kill her?” Duncan repeated. It wasn’t easy to control his anger when he saw the marks this jerk had left on Chelsey’s face and neck.
The assailant shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
It did matter to Duncan, very much. He stared at the guy, trying to mesh his face with that of the man who’d assaulted him on the side of the mountain. But he was certain they weren’t the same.
“Your team failed several times now,” Duncan said. “And we’ve always gotten the upper hand, right? I’m pretty sure Wesley Strand isn’t going to be impressed at how your cohort failed to kill us.”
Their perp looked away, and Duncan knew the guy didn’t like being reminded of his shortcomings.
“You don’t want to talk? That’s fine,” Slade drawled. “We can book you for one count of assault and battery against Chelsey. When we find the others, we’ll add conspiracy to commit murder.”
A flicker of concern shadowed the guy’s gaze but then vanished. “Whatever.”
“You’re going to jail,” Slade said. “You can either choose to cooperate or do the time, makes no difference to me.” He jerked the guy to his feet. “Let’s put him in the spare bedroom, the one he didn’t breach, until we can hand him over to the authorities.”
Duncan stepped back to give Slade room. Colt was still standing guard in the hallway between the two bedrooms, just in case someone else tried the same trick.
Duncan stood for a moment, willing his heart rate to return to normal. Then he approached Chelsey, lifting his palm to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” Chelsey’s stricken expression contradicted her claim, so he gently pulled her into his arms. She melted against him, burying her face against his chest. He lightly stroked her soft curls. “This will never stop, will it?”
“It will stop if we find and arrest the people involved.” Starting, he thought, with Wesley Strand and ultimately nailing Anthony Nettles.
Not to mention whatever role millionaire Travis Wolfe played in this. Too many suspects and not enough evidence.
Chelsey clung to him for a long time, then pulled herself together. She tipped her head back to gaze up at him. “Thanks, Duncan. For being my rock through this.”
“I’m glad to be here for you.” His voice was low and gravelly, and he cleared his throat to cover the emotional roller coaster he was experiencing. He cared about Chelsey, far more than he should.
Knowing they had so little time together didn’t help.
She stepped back and drew a hand through her hair. “Before you ask, I’ve never heard Brett talk about anyone by the name of Wesley Strand.”
He drew her into the kitchen, nudging her into a chair. “Let’s see if we can find him online.”
Slade and Colt returned to the kitchen wearing grim expressions. “We’ve secured the two bedrooms as best we can for now. We need to turn this guy over to the authorities, but we’re not exactly sure who to trust,” Slade said. “If there’s a leak in the Jackson Police Department, I’m afraid this guy will slip away.”
Duncan glanced up. “What about the park rangers? The attack on me was in the Grand Teton National Park, doesn’t that give them some jurisdiction? We know this guy is working with the guy who attacked me.”
“We can’t prove he’s part of the attack on the mountain, but the park rangers have a jail.” Slade shrugged. “But they mostly hold criminals until the local law enforcement agency can take custody.”
“Maybe we can convince Ranger Eric Connolly to hang on to him for a few days,” Duncan suggested.
“It would be great if they’d hold him long enough to run his fingerprints through the database to get an ID,” Slade said.
“He refuses to say anything else without his lawyer,” Colt added. “I’m surprised he gave us Wesley Strand’s name.”
“Yeah, except he could very well be lying,” Duncan said. “I’m trying to pull up information on Wesley Strand now.”
The marshals crowded around him to see the screen, the only sound from the tapping of computer keys. Images bloomed on the screen, and he quickly narrowed his search to include Anthony Nettles and Travis Wolfe.
Bingo. A photo came up showing Anthony Nettles standing in front of a building with Travis Wolfe and Wolfe’s chief of security, Wesley Strand.
“Got him.” Duncan blew up the image on the screen and turned the computer toward Chelsey. “Does this guy look familiar?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “No.”
“Head of security for Travis Wolfe?” Slade echoed. “That’s interesting.”
“If it’s true he really set up the hit,” Duncan cautioned. “We can only trust the guy so far.”
Colt let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, let’s just say our perp is telling the truth. How does that fit in with the idea of organized crime? If Wolfe is already a multimillionaire, why does he need to get involved with Coyote Creek Construction?”
“Maybe crime is how he got to be so rich,” Slade said thoughtfully. “We know that organized crime rings often have legitimate businesses intermingled with their illegal activities. It’s the best way to launder money.”
“But they also
typically stay off the radar,” Duncan pointed out. “Rather than flaunt their wealth.”
The group fell silent, as they pondered the impact of what they’d learned.
Finally, Chelsey spoke up. “I still think we need to get to the Teton Valley Hotel to find Brett’s folder.”
Duncan glanced at her. “You have a point. The fact that this guy took a chance in slipping into the cabin in broad daylight reeks of desperation. The sooner we get out of Moose, Wyoming, the better.”
Colt and Slade exchanged a glance. “It would be better to wait until dark,” Colt pointed out. “But I agree, staying here doesn’t seem to be a good plan.”
“I’ll call Ranger Connolly. Maybe he has an idea of where we can hide out for a while.” Slade stepped away with his phone.
Duncan understood where the marshals were coming from. Obviously, getting out of town would be best after dark, at least as far as making it difficult for anyone to follow them. But two attempts here in the cabin over the past couple of hours wasn’t good, either.
Resting his hands on Chelsey’s shoulders, he tried not to count down the hours that he had left with her. Less than twenty-four hours for sure. From his army experience he knew flying in small planes close to the mountains at night was extremely dangerous. The earliest Chelsey would be able to be flown out of Jackson was early tomorrow morning.
Eighteen hours. A wave of helplessness washed over him.
After attempting to keep an emotional distance from her, he was forced to admit eighteen hours wasn’t nearly enough.
Not when he longed for so much more.
* * *
Chelsey sat at the kitchen table, listening as they made their plans for the next few hours. Duncan was unusually silent, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Connolly and Davidson will be here shortly,” Slade announced. “Davidson offered up his place for us to use.”
“That’s very nice of him,” Chelsey said.
“I just hope his place is isolated from the others,” Duncan said, breaking his silence. “I saw a long apartment building on our way in.”