Colorado Abduction Page 10

  Burke’s first order of business was to delegate. He put Agent Silverman in charge of coordinating these various operations.

  Neville and the cowboy protection patrol would keep up their surveillance with one major difference: they had to move out of Dylan’s office and into the bunkhouse. As soon as they left, grumbling with every step, the noise level in the house returned to something near normal.

  While Silverman prepared to deploy the chopper and the dogs with grid maps of the area, Burke took Carolyn and her brother back to her bedroom sanctuary. In the relative quiet, he filled Dylan in on what they’d discovered at Logan’s compound.

  Dylan turned to his sister. “What did you ever see in that jerk?”

  “You liked him,” she reminded. “Both you and dad were ready to march me down the aisle to marry him.”

  “Because I didn’t want to see you move to New York and turn into a corporate witch.”

  “Like Mom?”

  He exhaled in a whoosh. “Let’s not paw through that old garbage, okay?”

  “Have you called her? Told her about Nicole?”

  Burke stepped in before their conversation deteriorated into what appeared to be an old family argument. “Dylan, I want you to work with Silverman to coordinate the search efforts. The FBI teams need backup from your men who know the territory. You should make those assignments.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “Keep in mind that we’ve got a traitor in our midst. Don’t tell any of your men about obtaining the ransom or our suspicions about the Circle M.”

  “What about the ransom?” he asked. “That money is going to get here any minute. How are we going to pick it up and still keep it a secret?”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Burke said. “It’s better that you don’t know the details.”

  Identical pairs of green eyes stared at him in disbelief.

  “A million dollars in cash,” Carolyn said. “Our cash. We need to know.”

  Clearly, she had a point. Burke quickly explained, “The ransom is being flown to Delta. We already have two Long-bridge Security guards at the hospital watching over the man who was shot, and I figured—”

  “How is he doing?” Carolyn interrupted. “Jesse Long-bridge? Is he conscious?”

  “Not yet. Technically, he’s not in a coma because he’s responsive to external stimuli. But he’s still not awake.” Which was unfortunate on many levels. If Jesse woke up and could give them an identification, they’d at least know who they were looking for. He continued, “Those two guards are picking up the ransom and keeping an eye on it.”

  Carolyn and Dylan exchanged a glance. Both nodded.

  “I trust Longbridge Security,” Dylan said. He headed toward the bedroom door. With his hand on the knob, he paused. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Carolyn.”

  “Same here.”

  When the door closed behind him a hush descended.

  The atmosphere in her bedroom, though quiet, was charged with suppressed emotion. She’d perched on the edge of the bed. Her hair was out of the ponytail, tumbling loose to her shoulders. She tilted her head back and stretched, arching her throat. “Dylan never forgave Mom for leaving the ranch. He couldn’t see how stifled she was. The ranching life isn’t for everybody.”

  “Is it for you?”

  “I have the best of both worlds. In Denver, I’m Corporate Sally. Out here? Annie Oakley.”

  He sat beside her on the bed—a move he might regret. Developing a relationship with the victim’s family in a hostage situation was nearly inevitable, but empathy didn’t include the kind of passionate kiss they’d shared in the truck. He’d already gone too far with her.

  When she looked up at him with those intriguing green eyes, his discipline and training ebbed. He wanted to make love to this woman. When she reached up to stroke his cheek, he caught her hand.

  “We can’t do this,” he said. Yet he didn’t release her hand.

  “Which part of me scares you the most?” she asked. “The businesswoman or the rancher?”

  “Well, let’s see. The CEO might drive me to ruin. But Annie Oakley might fire a blast of buckshot into my ass.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “I’m not scared, Carolyn. Are you?”

  “Not a bit.”

  In any other situation, making love would be the next natural step. He was drawn to her. The magnetism was palpable, so strong that he began to sweat. He forced himself to stand, still holding her hand. “We have a lot to do.”

  He pulled her to her feet and into his embrace. Just one kiss, he told himself. One more kiss wouldn’t hurt.

  But she stepped back. “I don’t like unfinished business, Burke. Once I start on a project, I close the deal.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I want more from you than just one kiss.”

  And he’d be happy to deliver. The whole enchilada, baby. “I suggest we continue this negotiation at a later time.”

  “Suits me.”

  When she left the bedroom, he followed. He had about a hundred things to do, but his focus at that moment was simple. He couldn’t take his eyes off her long legs and round bottom in her snug jeans. Denim had never looked so good.

  AFTER CAROLYN REALIZED there was nothing useful she could do in the house, she stepped outside to take a breather. Her path led, predictably, to the corral outside the barn where she climbed onto the fence railing and gave a low whistle.

  Elvis approached, swinging his hips. At the fence, he leaned his neck toward her, welcoming a hug.

  Mindful that someone might be listening, she kept her voice low. “Here’s my problem, Elvis. Burke is just about the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my whole life. He makes me want to drag him into the hayloft and make love.”

  Elvis nodded.

  “It’s totally inappropriate.”

  Not to mention heartless. How could she be fantasizing about lovemaking while Nicole was being held captive and her brother was going through hell? A chill took root in her heart—a dark cold that had nothing to do with the December weather.

  In the proof-of-life photo, Nicole appeared to be uninjured. Was she tied up? Chained? Were they holding her in a dark cell? “Oh God, Elvis. What am I going to do?”

  He shook his head, and his black mane flopped over the white blaze on his forehead. Just like a real shrink, Elvis always turned the question back to her. Rightly so. The answers were usually within her.

  But this time there was very little Carolyn could do. She’d arranged for the ransom to be delivered, and she’d made contact with Sunny, who might be the key to getting inside Logan’s compound. Other than that, she was helpless.

  And what am I going to do about Burke? Clearly, her attraction to him was a way of distracting her from terrible thoughts about the kidnapping. If fear was cold, the way she felt about Burke was a bonfire.

  “It’s not like I want a relationship,” she confided to Elvis. Though she and Burke both worked in Denver and could certainly see each other again, she didn’t expect anything long term. They were both too demanding, too competitive.

  All she really needed from Burke was an uncomplicated moment of passion. After that, they’d go their separate ways.

  Lucas came toward her. “Hey, Carolyn. Talking to that fat, old horse again?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Elvis. You’re still a hunka hunka burning love.”

  He leaned against the fence beside her. When his jacket brushed aside, she saw that he was carrying his new Glock in a hip holster. He was holding an evergreen wreath in his gloved hand.

  “What are you doing with the wreath?” she asked.

  “I thought I might tie a red ribbon around it and hang it over the gatepost out front.”

  Celebrating Christmas was the last thing on her mind. Still, she said, “Good idea. Nicole loves Christmas decorations. When she comes home, she’ll be happy to see that wreath.”

  When she comes home. Carolyn repeated those words to herself. N
icole will be home for Christmas.

  “Ain’t this something?” he said. “With the feds and the choppers and bloodhounds and all.”

  “Dylan said he’d call out the National Guard if that’s what it takes.”

  They went quiet. She never felt a need to make conversation with Lucas. In the many years she’d known this old cowboy, he’d always been prone to taciturn silence. According to gossip from Polly, Lucas Mann had a reputation as a ladies’ man when he went into town, but Carolyn found that characterization hard to imagine.

  He shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “You and Burke went over to the Circle M. How’d that turn out?”

  Unable to adequately describe her disgust with the Sons of Freedom, she shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Logan’s not a bad kid, you know.”

  When she was dating that scumbag, Lucas had been one of the guys who thought she should marry him. “He’s changed.”

  “Betcha he was downright happy to see you.”

  Why would Lucas make that assumption? “How much do you know about the Sons of Freedom?”

  “Not much. They’re against the government getting in the way of everyday people. Going back to the good old days.”

  “When women had fewer rights than cattle?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Carolyn. Ain’t nobody fixing to send you back to the kitchen.” He lifted the wreath onto his shoulder. “It don’t seem like the SOF means any harm.”

  Not unless you count murder. And whatever other criminal activities they were engaged in. She’d seen the sophisticated weaponry. Old-time pioneers didn’t need automatic assault rifles. “If I ever see Sam Logan again, it’ll be too soon.”

  The front door of the ranch house slammed and she looked toward the sound. Her brother stepped onto the veranda and gripped the railing. Even at this distance, she could see tension weighing down upon him, bending his shoulders.

  Giving Elvis a final pat, she hurried back to the house. The closer she got, the more distress she saw in Dylan. When she touched his arm, he was trembling.

  His voice was so low she could barely hear him.

  “We got another call from the kidnapper.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When Dylan was a toddler, two years younger than Carolyn, she hated to see him cry. At the first sign of tears, she’d cuddle him, tell him stories and sing songs until he smiled. If only she could do the same thing now—sweep her brother up in her loving arms and ease the aching in his heart.

  She wrapped an arm around his middle and leaned her head on his shoulder. Memories of long-ago lullabies whispered in her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer false promises that everything would be all right.

  “I told the kidnapper,” Dylan said, “that we were having a hard time getting the ransom in time because of the banks. He changed his deadline. We have until Monday at five o’clock.”

  “That’s good news,” she said.

  “Not for Nicole. She has to be with those bastards for two more days. God only knows what they’re doing to her.”

  Burke joined them on the porch. His manner was subdued but assertive, striking exactly the right tone of calm control. She wondered if that attitude was something they taught at Quantico or if it came naturally.

  He said, “You did a good job on the phone, Dylan.”

  “That’s not what I’m thinking,” he said darkly. “I’d rather give them the money and get my wife back.”

  In an ideal world, that was how a negotiation should work. But not with a kidnapper. If Nicole was being held at the Circle M, Logan would never free her—she could identify him. If the pregnant woman, Sunny, was to be believed, Logan had already presided over one murder. Nicole might be the next.

  “We have two more days to find her,” Carolyn said. “You did good, Dylan. You bought us more time.”

  “And Dylan got the kidnapper to promise one proof of life a day. More photos of Nicole give us more clues,” said Burke.

  Thinking of evidence, Carolyn asked, “Did you trace the call?”

  “Not this time. He was too fast, and there aren’t a lot of cell towers in this area to use for tracking. But it was the same cell phone number as the first call.”

  “Sheriff Trainer was trying to get information on the phone,” she remembered. “Figuring out where the disposable cell was purchased.”

  “Thus far,” Burke said, “he’s been unsuccessful.”

  “And what about Nate Miller?” she asked. “Did the sheriff find anything at his house?”

  “Smith joined the sheriff and his deputies for that search. He has nothing good to say about Miller.”

  “Nobody does,” Dylan said. “He’s as mean and bitter as his old man.”

  She agreed with her brother. Being around Miller made her skin crawl. “But did they find evidence?”

  “Nothing that links him to the kidnapping, but he doesn’t have an alibi for yesterday or last night. We’ll keep him on our list of suspects.”

  A list that was ridiculously long. “Are you talking to other people on that list?”

  “Silverman will be coordinating those interviews with Sheriff Trainer.” He met her gaze. “As you pointed out when we were in town, a lot of these people won’t open up to the FBI. At least they’ll talk to Trainer.”

  The painstaking process of gathering clues frustrated Carolyn. She was a big picture kind of person who made decisions and charged ahead, figuring the details would eventually sort themselves out. “Have you got anything, Burke? Any new leads at all?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  In the distance, she saw the helicopter approaching, flying low over the rugged landscape of forest and rock. Dylan gave her a squeeze and separated from her. “There’s nothing more I can do here. I’m going up with the chopper while there’s still daylight.”

  She was glad he’d be getting away from the tension-filled house. “I’ll be here. If there’s nothing I can do to help the investigation, maybe I’ll start with some Christmas decorating.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “That’s Nicole’s job. She loves doing that stuff.”

  “Should I go in the helicopter with you?” she asked. “Another pair of eyes can’t hurt.”

  “You need to stay here,” Burke said. “Corelli is ready to interview you.”

  She sensed there was something more he wanted to talk to her about. The midnight rendezvous with Sunny? Carolyn needed to be there to reassure Sunny. If that poor girl saw a bunch of FBI guys in bulletproof vests, she’d certainly be spooked.

  Waving goodbye to her brother as he ran toward the chopper, she turned to Burke. “Tonight at midnight,” she said. “I’m coming with you.”

  He glanced left and right, looking for spies. The only person she saw was bowlegged Lucas, ambling toward the front gate with the evergreen wreath hanging from his shoulder.

  “We’ll talk,” Burke said. “Inside.”

  Compared to the chaos of this morning, the dining room had taken on an aura of quiet efficiency.

  At one end of the table, Agent Silverman stood before a battery of computers and maps. He wore a phone headset, leaving his hands free to make notes. She’d barely noticed this young man before, probably because he looked like she thought an FBI agent should—totally average. With his brown hair, brown eyes and medium build, Silverman could easily fade into the background. This morning, he’d traded his FBI windbreaker for a faded green Stanford sweatshirt. When she smiled at him, he acknowledged her with a quick grin before he refocused on the task of coordinating the search efforts.

  At the opposite end of the table was Corelli, wearing his neat black suit and striped tie. He could have been the junior partner in a law firm.

  Burke stood with her behind Corelli’s left shoulder. “Take a look at what we’ve got so far.”

  Corelli clicked a few keys on his computer, bringing up a rogues’ gallery of photographs. “This is what I’ve found on the names Bu
rke gave me for the SOF.”

  She scanned the driver’s-license photos, recognizing some of the faces from the men she’d seen at the Circle M. The only one who jumped out at her was Butch Thurgood. Even without a Stetson, he looked like a cowboy with a thick, old-fashioned mustache. “Tell me about Butch.”

  “No criminal record,” Corelli said, “but a Web search gave me a lot of info. He’s a former rodeo star, a bucking bronc rider. Won the championship title at Cheyenne Frontier Days in 2004 and 2005.”

  He brought up a full-length photo of Butch Thurgood on the computer screen. A rangy, good-looking man, he wore an embroidered Western shirt and a silver belt buckle the size of a saucer. “He has a reputation as a horse whisperer, somebody who can tame wild mustangs.”

  Oddly, Carolyn felt reassured. Since Nicole was a veterinarian, she might have something in common with Butch.

  Beside her, Burke checked his wristwatch. “Now the bad news. Pete Richter.”

  Corelli clicked a few keys. The photo that appeared was a police mug shot. His dark eyes had a mean squint. Like Butch, Richter had facial hair but his patchy beard was the result of careless grooming.

  “I assume,” she said, “that he has a criminal record.”

  “Starting when he was eighteen,” Corelli said. “Shoplifting, vagrancy, DUIs. He served two years in prison for assault.”

  The reassurance she’d felt when looking at Butch turned into dread. If Nicole was in the clutches of Richter, things couldn’t be good. “What about the rest of the SOF men?”

  “Minor charges, here and there. One dishonorable discharge from the military. They’re low-level, petty criminals,” Burke said. “Amazingly, Sam Logan has a clean record, apart from one arrest for fraud that never resulted in trial because the woman he’d stolen from dropped the charges.”

  She wasn’t surprised. “Logan can be charming.”

  Burke scoffed, “Ready for more information?”

  “I suppose.”

  He waved his hand like a magician going for the big reveal. “Okay, Corelli. Show her the money.”

  The Sons of Freedom bank statement appeared on the screen.