Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe (17 page)

“Do you think Richter is still holding her?”

“Don't know.” He took the bottled water and sat at the kitchen table. His long legs stretched out in front of him.

He looked tired, as if the exertions of the day had finally caught up with him. And she wanted to help, to make him feel better. “Are there other leads to follow?”

“Tomorrow morning, I'll start tracking again. This time, I'll start at the place where Nicole and Dylan met.”

“At the same time as the ransom was being delivered,” she said. “Can I come with you?”

“No.” The merest hint of a smile flickered at the corner of his lips. “You're my client, too. I intend to keep you and Abby under guard.”

“Richter wouldn't dare come after me if I was with you.”

“No? The last time I tangled with Pete Richter, he nearly killed me. He shot first. And I failed at my job.”

“You didn't fail.” A frustrated sigh pushed through her lips. “This is the last time I'm going to say this—the kidnapping wasn't your fault.”

“Tell that to Nicole.”

She thought of the tiny secret room where Nicole had been held prisoner, tethered to the bed with a chain, unable to see the daylight. In the proof-of-life videos, she looked strong and upbeat. But she must have been scared.

The natural empathy she felt for Nicole extended to Jesse. He, too, was suffering. He'd taken on the entire responsibility for what had happened, called himself a failure.

She knew that he had ghosts of his own. She asked, “What happened in Telluride?”

His jaw tensed. She knew it was difficult for him to speak of the incident he'd referred to as a mistake. “I never should have brought that up.”

“But you did.” She sat at the table. “You told me because you feel like you can trust me. I want that, Jesse. I want to understand you.”

“I'm not complicated.”

“The hell you aren't.” She took his hand. “Tell me.”

He exhaled in a whoosh. “Private lodge in Telluride. A CEO, his two teenaged daughters and his wife.”

“Were they all skiing?”

“Not the wife. She preferred staying home, reading a book or knitting. A nice woman. I'll never forget the look in her eyes when I told her that her husband had been shot.”

Fiona suppressed a gasp. “What happened?”

“The daughters weren't hurt. And their father survived. Barely.” He squeezed her hand. “I didn't see the sniper in the trees. Not until it was too late.”

She wanted to reassure him, to tell him that he must have done the best he could. But she knew the stark, haunted expression in his dark eyes would not be easily assuaged. His pain was too deep. “You're in a rough business.”

“And failure has deadly results. I won't rest until I find Nicole.”

The next morning, Jesse planned to leave Fiona's house early and drive to the Carlisle Ranch, where he'd meet up with Burke and follow the second kidnapper's tracks, much as they'd done yesterday.

He finished brushing his teeth and left the bathroom. In the back of his mind, he was kind of hoping to skate out the door without saying too much to Fiona. He wouldn't purposely avoid her; that would be cowardly. But their talk last night raked up bad memories of a time when he'd almost lost a client. Painful, but he could cope. He'd had years to deal with that failure.

What he couldn't handle was their intimacy—the taste of her kiss, the pressure of her slender body against his, the silky texture of her long hair, her scent and her sighs. His desire for her opened a whole new arena of regret. He connected with her. From the moment they met, he had a sense that she was the woman he wanted at his side as he walked through life. But she'd already found her one true love in Wyatt Grant, and Jesse could never replace him. Falling in love with Fiona would only break his heart.

Steeling himself to face her, he strode into the kitchen.
Abby was at the kitchen table, chatting happily with one of the ranch hands who had spent the night on patrol. Jesse gave the young man a nod. “MacKenzie.”

He nodded back. “Morning, Jesse.”

Abby bounced down from her chair, took his hand and led him toward the counter. “Come here. Right now. You need coffee.”

He followed the bossy, little blonde pixie. “And why are you so sure of that?”

She rolled her baby-blue eyes. “Everybody is sooo tired today.”

“I suppose you're right.” After a night of rotating shifts with the other men guarding her house, he'd gotten barely enough sleep. And his dreams had been troubled.

“You have to pour it yourself,” Abby said as she went to the refrigerator. “I'm not allowed to touch hot stuff, but I can get the milk.”

She held the nearly empty container up to him. Though he usually took his coffee black, he added a dollop of milk. “Thank you, Abby.”

“I'm a very good hostess.”

“You took good care of me.”

“I know,” she said. “And I would take very good care of a pony.”

“Would you give him coffee?”

“Silly.” She laughed. “Ponies eat oatmeal.”

As she flounced back to the table, he helped himself to a blueberry muffin. No fruit this morning. Food supplies were running low. Later today, somebody would need to make a run to the market.

He gulped down the coffee and ate the muffin over the sink. If he moved fast, he could make his escape without
running into Fiona. To MacKenzie, he said, “I'm heading out. Tell Wentworth that I'll be back by noon.”

He was unlocking the back door when he heard Fiona's voice behind his shoulder. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

He turned. Caught. “Goodbye.”

She looked rested and alert with a touch of makeup on her wide gray eyes and a glossy pink lipstick. Her shiny brown hair hung in a neat braid down her back.

“Not so fast,” she said. “I'd like your opinion on one of the pieces I fired in the kiln last night.”

“Can't help you.” He gazed longingly at the door. “I don't know much about art.”

Much like Abby, she took his hand and pulled him down the hallway to her studio. The females in this family had a definite bossy streak. “My inspiration for this piece was the Navajo wedding vase.”

The interior of her studio was transformed. The last time he was in here, sketch pads and tools were piled on the worktable. Now that space held a neat display of finished artworks—small sculptures of bright-colored houses, exotic plants, strange-looking creatures and a variety of pots and vases.

“I liked the idea of the wedding vase,” she said. “With two spouts rising from the same vessel. Separate but joined together.”

A pearly glaze shimmered on a pot that seemed to be made of leaves. Wintery but not cold. Her talent impressed him, but her words sank deep.
Separate but joined together
. A marriage didn't have to be all-consuming. He touched the pearly ceramic. “It's like living ice.”

She beamed. “You like it.”

“I like all of it.” Some of the odd little animals made him smile. The shapes on the pots were fascinating. “You're good.”

“Andrea—Carolyn and Dylan's mother—is coming over this morning. She owns a gallery in Manhattan. If I can convince her to show my work, I gain instant credibility.”

With the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, he should have expected this creative side to her personality. She was one of the most expressive people he'd ever known. Every minute he spent in her company fascinated him and drew him closer. “Andrea would be a fool not to show your work.”

She went up on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “That's what I needed to hear. Now you can go.”

Now he wanted to stay. He picked up one of the pots—a simple, functional shape with a geometric design of orange and deep blue. “This reminds me of some of the Navajo artists. My grandfather would have liked it.”

“That's a terrific compliment. I know how important he was to you.”

Jesse remembered. “I dreamed about him last night. I saw him walking across a high mesa. There was a woman with him. A blonde woman.”

“Nicole,” she said.

“I called her name, and I raced toward them, leaping from one rock to another. But I didn't get any closer. You know how that is? Running in a dream?”

“I know.”

“My grandfather came to the edge of the cliff and raised both arms to a glaring sun. The light flared. Nicole was gone.”

He feared for her, feared that Richter had killed her and left her body in a shallow grave. Searching these moun
tains would take months, even years. They might never find her body.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

He wouldn't voice that fear, wouldn't give it substance by saying it aloud. “When my grandfather turned around, I was next to him. Close enough to touch the leather medicine pouch that hung from his neck, but I didn't reach toward him.”

Though he didn't believe the lore about ghost-walkers and shape-shifters, he respected the dead. “He spoke to me in Navajo. I don't understand the language very well, but I knew what he was saying. ‘Follow your path.'”

“Like the trail you followed into town,” she said. “Maybe he was telling you that you're on the right track.”

Jesse frowned. He didn't know what the hell his dream meant. He was tired of riddles and pieces of clues. He wanted to know exactly what to do next. “I should go.”

“I'll be here waiting.”

Whether he liked it or not, he knew that his path would always lead back to Fiona.

 

A
T THE
C
ARLISLE
R
ANCH
, Jesse didn't bother going inside. He went directly to the stables. The bay horse he'd been riding yesterday nickered when he came close to his stall. He was a good mount, even-tempered and sensitive to direction. Within a few minutes, Jesse was saddled up and ready to go.

Outside the stable, another rider was waiting. “Need some help?”

It was Dylan. A mantle of anger and grief still draped around him, but there was a different energy as well—a sense of determination.

“How are you at tracking?” Jesse asked.

“Pretty good. I'm a hunter.” He nodded back toward the house. “Burke won't be joining us. He got a lead on the whereabouts of Zeke O'Toole.”

Jesse flicked his reins. “Let's see what we can find.”

Together, they set out across the south pasture. Jesse didn't need directions to the creek where Nicole had met with her husband. It was near the same place Jesse had witnessed the actual kidnapping—the place where he'd been shot.

To their east, a panorama of ranch land, valley and rolling hills stretched toward distant snowcapped peaks. Wispy clouds streaked the blue skies, and sunlight brightened the khaki winter fields. Though he couldn't help but marvel at the vast beauty of this land bordering the edge of the forest, Jesse had a sense of foreboding. Dylan must have been feeling much the same way. At this quiet glen in the forest, his wife had told him their marriage was over.

He glanced toward the man riding beside him. In his shearling jacket and fawn-colored Stetson, Dylan Carlisle was one-hundred-percent cowboy. He'd lived on this land all his life; the acreage and cattle belonged to his family. A heavy responsibility.

When Dylan first hired Longbridge Security—only hours before the kidnapping—he'd been tense. His ranch was under assault from vandals who had burned down an old stable. Though he didn't like the idea that he needed bodyguards for protection, he wasn't rude or arrogant.

The last time they met, Dylan had lashed out at him.
Justifiably
, Jesse thought. Still, it hadn't been Dylan's finest hour.

They slowed as they reached the winding path that led to a stream. In springtime, this trail would have been green
and beautiful. Now the white branches of aspens were skeletal and bare. The shrubs were brown, spiky clumps.

Jesse ignored his memory of being shot. They were here to find out what had happened after Dylan met Nicole. Earlier, the cowboy accepted her at her word; he had refused to search for his wife.

“What changed your mind?” Jesse asked.

“Burke told me about what you'd found yesterday. The trail that went into Riverton. Buying a car from Zeke.” He shook his head. “This kidnapping plot is more complicated than I thought. Butch is dead. And why is Richter still hanging around?”

“Got to be the money,” Jesse said. “Are you thinking we might be able to get the ransom back?”

“I don't give a damn about the ransom.” He reined his horse beside the trickling stream. “Here's where she met me.”

He stared hard at an empty space in front of a tall spruce. His jaw tightened. Though Jesse could tell that Dylan wasn't a man given to emotional display, he saw a tear spill down his cheek.

He continued. “It wasn't the first time Nicole told me off. We're going through a rough patch in our marriage. Trying to get pregnant. When she said she wanted a divorce, I believed her. And now…” He cleared his throat. “Now I'm thinking I might have been wrong. That she's still out there being held prisoner.”

Or worse
. Not a thought Jesse wanted to dwell on. “Let's see what we can find.”

“A couple of my men were already out here,” Dylan said. “They picked up a trail that led toward Fiona's house.”

“One rider?”

Dylan nodded.

Jesse was pretty sure that wasn't right. There should have been two sets of tracks. His assumption was that Nicole had been accompanied by one of the kidnappers. Why else would they split up?

One of them grabbed the ransom and rode into town. The other stayed with Nicole. He sat up in his saddle and scanned the surrounding forest. “I'm guessing that she didn't come to this meeting alone. One of the kidnappers was with her, maybe holding a gun on her.”

“You think she was coerced? That they threatened to shoot her if she didn't say what they wanted?”

Dylan drew that conclusion quickly. He must have already been considering the possibility that Nicole was acting under duress.

“You're a hunter,” Jesse said. “If you wanted a clear shot at this spot, where would you hide?”

“Uphill. It was just after dark when I met her. There are plenty of places he could have been hiding in the trees.”

“Leave the horses here.” Jesse dismounted. “I'll go left. You go right.”

He climbed slowly, taking note of every broken twig, every mark on the ground. The stream attracted more than kidnappers and victims. There were hoofprints from elk. At the base of a pine tree, he found a squirrel's cache stuffed with pinecones.

“Found a boot print,” Dylan called out.

The vantage point where Dylan stood was uphill. A sniper in that position would have had a clear shot at Nicole, unless she made a sudden break and raced toward the ranch. She was a good rider, experienced enough to know that she could have escaped, especially since the kidnapper wasn't on horseback.

The beginning of an idea began to take shape in his mind. “Be there in a minute.”

He found what he was looking for. A neat set of boot prints behind a tree. His horse had been only a couple of yards away, hidden behind a boulder.

There were two kidnappers watching Nicole, holding a gun on her. Two at this spot. Another at La Rana to pick up the ransom.

Butch and Richter had help.