Colorado Abduction Page 9

  “I hear you raise horses,” Carolyn said. “This would be a wonderful afternoon for a ride.”

  “The men handle the horses,” said the tall blonde who appeared to be in charge of the kitchen. Her name was Sharon, and Carolyn guessed they were the same age—mid-thirties. The other women were at least a decade younger.

  “We get to brush and curry the horses,” peeped a very pregnant woman who had identified herself as Sunny. She waddled across the kitchen floor with all the grace of a Mack Truck. Her formerly blond hair had grown out several inches at the roots.

  “Do the men let you muck out the stables?” Carolyn asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Lucky you.” Carolyn laughed into a pall of silence.

  There was about as much vitality in this group as a gathering of tree slugs. Somehow, she needed to get them talking, to find out if they’d seen or heard anything that might lead to Nicole.

  Sauntering across the gray tiled kitchen floor, she zeroed in on Lisa—a scrawny brunette with tattoos of thorns around both wrists. “You seem familiar,” Carolyn said. “Are you from around here?”

  “No, ma’am.” She concentrated on chopping a zucchini into one-inch cubes. “I grew up in Denver.”

  “That’s where I live most of the time. Maybe we met there,” Carolyn said. Remembering Burke’s suggestion that they get names that could be run through the FBI database, she asked, “What’s your last name?”

  Sharon cleared her throat. “When we joined the SOF, we gave up our last names. This is a new life. A fresh start.”

  Sunny teased, “Lisa wants her last name to be Richter. She wants to be Mrs. Pete Richter.”

  “No, I don’t.” The paring knife in Lisa’s hand trembled. “I don’t like Pete. Not that way.”

  “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not since your sister took off.” Sunny explained to Carolyn, “Both Lisa and her sister had a thing for Pete.”

  “But your sister left?” Carolyn questioned.

  “Yes.” Lisa centered another zucchini on the chopping block.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  A single tear slid down Lisa’s cheek. “She’s gone.”

  “Forget about her,” Sharon said harshly. “Your sister was a fool. She wasn’t suited to our lifestyle.”

  Carolyn rested her elbows on the counter beside Lisa and spoke quietly. “I’ve lost someone, too. My sister-in-law, Nicole. Yesterday, she was knocked unconscious and kidnapped. I’m trying to—”

  “I know who you are,” Sharon said. “Carolyn Carlisle of the fancy-pants Carlisle Ranch. You own half the county. Why should we help you?”

  “Because it’s the decent thing to do. Like it or not, we’re your neighbors. We need your help.”

  In her business, Carolyn was accustomed to tense negotiations with international distributors and local ranchers. These three women were the most hostile group she’d ever encountered.

  “Let me tell you about Nicole,” Carolyn said. “She’s a good and decent person. She’s worked all her life as a large-animal veterinarian. The first time I met her, she’d spent the night in the stall with a horse that had colic. She was exhausted, barely able to walk. But she was grinning because the horse recovered. A good person.”

  “We don’t care,” Sharon said.

  Carolyn continued, “Nicole married my brother five years ago. They’re deeply in love, trying to have a baby.” She went to stand beside Sunny. “It’s hard for Nicole to get pregnant. She’s had internal injuries.”

  Sunny frowned. “That’s too bad.”

  “When are you due?”

  “In a couple of weeks, I think.”

  “You’re seeing a doctor, aren’t you? Or a midwife?”

  Sharon stepped between them, positioning herself as a shield and precluding any further conversation. This tall blonde, who would have been stunning with makeup, looked Carolyn in the eye. “You should leave. Now.”

  Her pupils were dilated, and she licked the corner of her mouth. Was she on drugs? Carolyn said, “Logan wanted me to help you with lunch preparations.”

  “Fine,” Sharon said. “Then you need an apron.”

  “Right.” I need an apron like I need a toe growing out of my forehead.

  THE INTERIOR of Logan’s double-wide mobile home was an office with fairly high-end equipment. Apparently, the SOF goal to live like pioneers didn’t preclude the use of computers, scanners and GPS mapping instruments.

  Burke operated under the assumption that Logan’s survivalist philosophy was a convenient cover story for some other endeavor. Probably criminal and lucrative. If Corelli could hack into these computers, they could decipher the real basis for the SOF in about five minutes.

  Under Logan’s supervision, he’d spoken to ten different men, most of whom were typical taciturn cowboys. The notable exception was a guy with a thick Brooklyn accent who admitted that the only cowboys he’d seen before moving to Colorado were in the movies.

  “That’s everybody,” Logan said. He sat behind his big oak desk with his chair tilted back and his boots propped up on top. “Like I told you, nobody saw anything out of the ordinary.”

  “You said there were twelve men.” Though Burke hadn’t taken notes, he’d memorized every name. “I counted only ten. And I didn’t meet that rodeo star you mentioned. Butch Thurgood?”

  Logan’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t like being caught in a lie. “Butch and Pete are in Denver for a couple of days.”

  “And what about the ladies? I’d like to talk to them, too.”

  “The women keep busy. They didn’t see anything.”

  “Never can tell,” Burke said. “Sometimes, women notice more details than men.”

  Logan stuck out his lower lip. Petulant, like a child. “I don’t encourage gossiping and nosiness.”

  Or independent thinking? For the life of him, Burke couldn’t figure out what Carolyn had ever seen in this petty tyrant. Sure, Logan was handsome, but so was a tiger before it ripped your arm out of the socket.

  Logan continued, “The women who live here are grateful to have a roof over their heads. Some of them came from the streets. SOF is a fresh start for them, and they’re happy to be obedient and hardworking.”

  Burke sensed an undercurrent to this speech. Was there dissatisfaction among the ladies? A rebellion brewing? If he wanted to find out what was really going on inside the SOF, he needed to listen to the women. Maybe Carolyn was having some luck in talking to them.

  He rose from the straight-back chair beside the desk. He’d already affixed one bug under the lip of Logan’s desk, but he had another listening device that he wanted to get inside the house. “Let’s pick up Carolyn at the house, and you can show us around.”

  “Nothing special to see.”

  “Looks like you’ve added a lot of improvements.”

  “Nothing special,” Logan repeated.

  “What about a meeting place?” He was hoping for a big room with slogans on the wall or other traceable clues. “It’s like you’re running a little town here.”

  “That’s right,” he drawled. “And I’m the mayor.”

  “Where do the kids go to school? Where do you all sit down to eat?” Where’s your stash of propane tanks? Where would you hide a kidnapping victim?

  “We meet where we eat in the men’s bunkhouse. It’s nothing fancy, just a big plain room with tables. There’s a wall that separates the meeting area from the sleeping area.”

  “And a television?”

  “Why would you think that? We’re trying to lead a simple life here. Like the noble American pioneers who settled the West.”

  And wiped out the native population? Burke wasn’t impressed with the phony rhetoric. “I assumed you had television because I saw a dish on top of the house.”

  “We’re connected to the outside world. At times, it’s necessary to know what’s happening.” He shrugged. “Maybe, we watch the occasional football game.”

  Fina
lly, Burke found common ground. “I have a friend with a skybox at Invesco Field. If you come into Denver, I’d like to take you to a Bronco game.”

  “Yeah?” Logan grinned. “A big guy like you probably played football.”

  “I did.”

  “Me, too. Quarterback. If I’d been on a halfway decent team, I would have made all state.”

  From outside the office, he heard the whir of helicopter blades. The FBI search team must be arriving at the Carlisle Ranch.

  The moment of friendly bonding over football vanished as Logan glanced up. “One of yours?”

  “Probably. I requested assistance. Choppers and dogs.”

  “Don’t expect to enter this property again.”

  “Come on, Logan. We were getting along so well.”

  “We shoot trespassers.” He pulled his long legs down from the desktop and stood in one smooth move. “We’re done here.”

  WEARING A PLAIN MUSLIN APRON with old stains across the midsection, Carolyn looked up at the sound of the approaching helicopter. She felt like running into the yard and waving her arms, screaming to be rescued from the doldrums of the Circle M kitchen. This had been the most frustrating half hour of her life—peeling potatoes and trying to get these women to talk.

  Hoping to engage their sympathies, she’d told several stories about Nicole. The only one who responded was the pregnant woman, Sunny.

  The other two women, Sharon and Lisa, became even more sullen. At one point, Lisa sat at the table with her hands folded neatly and stared, unmoving, for a solid thirty seconds. When Carolyn asked if she was okay, Sharon informed her that Lisa was praying. Drugged was more like it.

  Carolyn set down her potato peeler on the countertop and wiped her hands on the hem of the apron, being careful not to touch the prior stains. “I’m finished.”

  “Me, too,” Sunny said. “Gather up your peelings in that rubber tub and we’ll take it all out to the compost heap. Is that okay, Sharon?”

  The blond woman nodded. Slowly.

  Outside the back door, Carolyn walked beside Sunny toward a fenced-off area that would be a vegetable garden in the springtime.

  “You have to help me.” Sunny paused for a moment and scribbled on a scrap of paper with a pencil stub. “Please.”

  “Yes, whatever you need.”

  “Don’t let them see you talking to me. Keep smiling.”

  Carolyn tossed her head and smiled, trying her best to look utterly mindless. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got to get out of here before my baby is born.”

  “They won’t let you leave?” Carolyn asked.

  “I know too much. Can’t explain now.” She dumped her peelings onto a stinking compost pile, stood up straight and rested her hand on her huge belly. “Lisa’s sister didn’t disappear. She didn’t leave. They killed her.”

  Dear God, this place is a nightmare. “What about Nicole?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know anything about her.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Here comes Logan. Pretend like you’re shaking my hand.”

  Carolyn did as she asked. With a huge smile, Sunny whispered, “Meet me at midnight tonight.”

  Carolyn pocketed the scrap of paper Sunny had passed to her. “Always glad to help.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The most dangerous aspect of any incursion into hostile territory was the exit strategy. As Burke watched Carolyn saunter toward him and Logan, he hoped she wouldn’t do anything to provoke retaliation. They needed to get the hell away from the Circle M.

  Through his sunglasses, he noted the positions taken by three of the men he’d met. All were scanning the skies for the chopper. All were armed, and these weren’t the type of rifles used by casual sportsmen. The Sons of Freedom had broken out the automatic assault weapons and sniper rifles. Evidence of this brand of firepower combined with the stockpile of propane tanks made the SOF an extremely volatile enemy—a fact that didn’t seem to concern Carolyn in the least.

  Without breaking stride, she unfastened the strings of her apron and peeled it off. She slapped the fabric against Logan’s chest. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

  “It’s good for you to work in a kitchen for once.” He signaled to one of his men, who responded quickly. “Escort our guests to the front gate.”

  Burke made an attempt to keep the tenuous line of communication open. “I appreciate your cooperation.” He held out his hand for a friendly shake. “This is an impressive operation.”

  Logan turned his back and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Get the hell out.”

  Carolyn called after him, “Hey, Sam.”

  It was the first time she’d used his given name, which Burke thought was an effective use of a negotiating tool. Carolyn was sharp. In one word, she’d reminded him of their prior relationship.

  He faced them. “What is it, Carolyn?”

  “There’s no call to be rude. The pioneers had a tradition of Western hospitality. When someone offers the hand of friendship, it’s not right to turn away.”

  With his men watching, he couldn’t be churlish. He grasped Burke’s hand. In a low voice, he said, “We’re not friends.”

  Logan turned to Carolyn with hand extended. When she placed her hand in his, he pulled her close. “You hurt me once, honey. This time, it’s my turn.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not if you stay out of my way.”

  As he and Carolyn walked up the road to the gate, Burke held his silence. Earlier he’d counseled Carolyn about containing her outrage. Now he had to apply those same restrictions to himself. It won’t do any good to explode. He was smarter than that, better than that.

  But Logan’s smarmy attitude ticked him off. That blond son of a bitch with the perfect features was nothing more than a cowboy con man, hiding behind phony rhetoric about the noble American pioneers.

  When Burke slid into the passenger seat of the truck, he immediately opened the glove compartment and retrieved his gun. The weight of it felt good in his hand.

  “Your ex-boyfriend is one of the coldest, most calculating liars I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot. I’ve dealt with terrorists and serial killers. Sam Logan disgusts me more.”

  “More than a serial killer?” Carolyn started the truck.

  “Logan isn’t crazy. He knows the difference between right and wrong. And he consciously chooses wrong.”

  She wheeled around in a U-turn and drove away from the Circle M. “What happens next?”

  “When we get back to the ranch house, all hell is going to be breaking loose.” Burke holstered his gun. “I’ll need to coordinate choppers and dogs and a half-baked patrol of cowboys with rifles. Not to mention keeping everything quiet so the traitor can’t report our every move to Logan.”

  “You’re sure that Logan is the kidnapper?”

  “Not a hundred percent.” Logan’s alibi was the SOF. They could all stand in a circle and swear that they were all together at the time of the kidnapping. Which didn’t necessarily mean they were lying. “I’m certain he’s engaged in some kind of criminal activity. Maybe he’s got a meth lab hidden in one of the outbuildings. Maybe he’s doing some kind of smuggling.”

  “His men were carrying some pretty fancy weapons. He could be trafficking in guns.”

  “Could be.” As Burke started his left brain thinking, his anger faded. “In any case, he’s using the SOF as a cover for himself and his sorry gang of outlaws.”

  “And the women?”

  “He never lets them get involved in business, right?”

  “Right,” she said.

  “I doubt they know what’s going on. The women and children are, basically, hostages. Logan is using them as a human shield. The FBI can’t come after him with guns blazing while there’s a danger to innocent women and children.”

  Though they were still a mile away from the Carlisle Ranch, she pulled over to the side of the road and parked. “I need to talk to you about the women. I got the impre
ssion that some of them might be on drugs.”

  “Logan told me that some of the women came from the street, which I assume means they were either hookers or runaways.” The thought of Logan approaching some poor soul down on her luck and luring her to his ranch revved up Burke’s temper again. “He said they were lucky to have a roof over their heads.”

  “Not lucky at all,” Carolyn said. “One of them was murdered.”

  He hadn’t expected this bombshell. “Murdered?”

  “One of them talked to me. Her name is Sunny. Can’t be more than twenty years old, and she’s pregnant. She wants to get away from the Circle M.” She dug into her jeans pocket and took out a scrap of paper. “She wants me to meet her at this location. Tonight. At midnight.”

  He read the scribbled words on the scrap. “West field. By the pines.”

  “She mentioned a name, Pete Richter. Maybe she was trying to tell me he’s the killer.”

  He recognized the name. “Logan said that Richter and Thurgood weren’t at the ranch. They could have taken Nicole somewhere else. Or they could be guarding her in one of those outbuildings.”

  “We need to get back in there,” she said. “We need to search.”

  Easier said than done. Following the legal parameters for a search with a warrant was out of the question. And Logan would never give up without a fight.

  The only way Burke could search for Nicole was to send in an assault team. And risk the lives of the women and children at the Circle M? Even if it meant rescuing Nicole, he couldn’t put others in danger.

  AS BURKE HAD EXPECTED, the pastoral setting of the Carlisle ranch house had erupted into chaos. Polly was trying to serve lunch. The ranch hands with their walkie-talkies were still patrolling. An FBI team with bloodhounds and cadaver dogs had arrived. And the chopper pilot stood waiting for instruction.