Against the Wind (12 page)

She fought to control the shudder that filtered through her body.

“Here it is.” Mitzy shoved aside some of the clothes on the rod. “Behind my suit.”

A lovely white Chanel. Of course, in the beginning, Andrew had bought Sarah clothes with those same expensive labels. In the past few years, she hadn't wanted them, hadn't wanted anything that came from him.

“All right, let's give it a try.” Jackson moved past Mitzy. So far, he hadn't seemed to notice her gorgeous face and amazing body. Or maybe he was just more subtle than most men.

He turned the dial slowly, carefully working the tumblers into place. He must have missed a number on the first try because it didn't open. He started over, went round again, back and then forward, and
click.
The
combination fell into place. Jackson turned the handle and the small safe slowly opened.

Sarah leaned forward to peer inside. “It's empty,” she said, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

Then Jackson reached into the shadows and pulled out three narrow colored envelopes. The words
Varig Airlines
were printed on the front.

“Looks like he was planning a trip.”

Sarah felt a rush of nausea. “H-he talked about it. He threatened to move us all to Rio. I told him I wouldn't go—that I wouldn't let him take Holly. We fought about it.”

She looked away. They'd fought, all right. A scene that had ended with Sarah's nose bloodied and her lip split. Like most of their arguments, they happened late in the evening—downstairs in his study where he demanded her presence—long after Holly had been put to bed upstairs.

“Looks like he expected you to give in, sooner or later.”

She swallowed. They had argued about it again that last night.

“I'm going,”
Andrew had said.
“You want to stay here, fine with me, but I'm leaving the country and I'm taking Holly with me.”

She closed her eyes to block out the rest of the ugly scene. She refused to let her mind stray past the moment when he had risen from behind his desk and started toward her, when she had felt the awful, sickening fear.

Jackson's arm went around her, steadying her. “You okay?”

“Yes, I…I just wish we'd found the disk.”

But they hadn't, and there was no telling what Kozak might do.

“Do you think he'll give up?” Mitzy asked.

“I hope so,” Sarah said.

“Sooner or later, he'll quit looking,” Jackson said. “And we're still working on a couple of things that might help. Odds are he'll eventually figure the disk is lost and therefore no longer a threat.”

Sarah made no reply. They were still trying to find out why Andrew had been blackmailing Kozak. If they could find the answer, they would have a bargaining chip to use against him.

She thought of Kozak and Andrew and her mind returned to the airline tickets Jackson held in his hand. She couldn't help wondering what would have happened when she had finally convinced Andrew she wasn't going with him. Would he have forced Holly to go, changed her ticket into Mitzy's name and taken his mistress to Rio instead?

Or would he have simply taken Holly and made Sarah disappear?

T
hey were almost home. Sarah's anticipation built as Jackson's Ford pickup rolled toward the ranch. The minute the truck pulled up in front of the sprawling two-story ranch house, Holly rushed out to great them.

“Mama! Mom!”

Her daughter was growing up. She was
Mom
now. Holly hadn't called Sarah
Mommy
since a few weeks after their arrival in Wyoming.

“Hi, baby.” Sarah lifted her up and propped her against her hip. “Good heavens, I think you must have grown a bunch since I left town.”

Holly giggled. “Just like Rags. He gets bigger every day.” She turned. “You should see him, Jackson—I think he's gonna be really big.”

“Well, maybe not too big,” Jackson said, running a hand over the top of her small blond head. “Maybe just right.”

Holly grinned up at him. “I'm glad you're back.”

“Me, too,” he said.

Sarah returned Holly to her feet and the little girl took hold of Sarah's hand. “Come on, Mom. I wanna show you Midnight. She is so cool.”

“I need to take my stuff inside, then we can go down to the barn and you can show me.”

“I'll take your luggage inside,” Jackson offered. “You can unpack when you're finished.”

He was always so thoughtful. She wished it didn't make her so nervous. She wished
he
didn't make her so nervous. Then again, maybe
nervous
wasn't the right word. She flicked him a glance, caught the heat in his dark eyes he was usually so careful to hide, and her stomach contracted. He was back in his jeans and boots and looking so damned sexy her thoughts strayed to the bedroom and she blushed.

She turned her attention to her daughter, a thread of worry filtering through her. They were home, back in Wyoming, but nothing had changed. Marty Kozak still posed a threat to her and Holly.

And Sarah still wanted Jackson Raines.

 

“Welcome home.” Livvy's robust figure stood in the kitchen when Jackson walked into the house towing his black, wheeled, carry-on bag behind him.

“It's good to be back.”

“Did you get things straightened out for Sarah?”

“We're still working on it.”

Livvy moved toward the sink, spatula in hand. “Your brother, Dev, called this morning. He's back in Scottsdale. I told him you'd call him when you got in.”

He nodded, started toward his study, stopped and looked back. “Thanks for taking care of Holly.”

Livvy smiled, stretching her double chins. “She wasn't a bit of trouble. That little girl is a treasure. She can stay with me anytime.” Livvy had wanted kids when she married, he knew, but somehow it just never happened. Jackson thought Olivia Jones was also a treasure, and he was damned glad to have her there on the ranch.

“She's going to be a real heartbreaker,” he said.
Just like her mother,
popped into his head. He forced the old uncertainties away and continued along the hall, went into his office, and over to his big oak desk. Picking up the telephone, he dialed his brother's home number.

“Ey,
muchacho
—how was Mexico?”

“Hot.” Dev chuckled. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, well, I hope your mind's back on business because I'm going to need a favor.”

“Seems like I've heard that one before.”

“True—and it probably won't be the last time.”

Dev's smile reached into the phone. “This still about Sarah Allen?”

“We just got back from L.A. Went to look for the missing disk.”

“I guess you didn't find it.”

“Not yet.”

“Why don't you bring me up to speed on this thing?”

So he did, telling his brother about the break-in at Sarah's grandmother's house before they'd left Wyoming that had put the old woman in the hospital, about the threats Sarah had received from the dark-skinned man
in town, his run-in with Jose Delgado and that Delgado had a partner named Billy Hinman.

“Looks like Andrew Hollister was blackmailing Martin Kozak,” he said. “We're trying to find out why.”

“You're looking for leverage.”

“That's about it.”

“In a situation like this, leverage can be a very good thing.”

“Kozak is big-time in heavy construction, builds highways and bridges, that kind of thing. Currently he's working on an overpass on Highway 91, leased the equipment from one of Hollister's companies. Could be he's cutting corners, using substandard material or something. The inspector on the project is a guy named Vernon Rimmer. I need to know if Rimmer's on the take. Any chance you can find that out?”

“Maybe. Sounds like you two have been doing your homework.”

“Unfortunately, we've pretty much reached a dead end—unless you can help.”

“Let me see what I can do. I'll get back to you as soon as I know something.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“No problem.” Dev rang off, and Jackson felt a sense of relief. His brother was good.
Very good.
If they could find out what Kozak was doing, they could insure he left Sarah and Holly alone.

Jackson checked his messages, returned a couple of calls, then left the study and went out to find Jimmy Threebears. The spring branding was done, so it wasn't as busy as it had been a few weeks back, but they were moving cattle to graze different pastures and there were
always fences to mend, along with just keeping track of the animals' general welfare.

He found Jimmy out in the barn, stacking some of last year's hay to make room for this summer's crop. They had weed sprayed last year and fertilized this spring so the grass was growing tall and thick, and rich in nutrients.

“Hey, boss!” Jimmy strode toward him, his long legs eating up the ground between them. “How'd it go in L.A.?”

“Not as well as I'd hoped. Dev's looking into a couple of things for me. We'll see what he comes up with. Everything okay here?”

“We could use a little rain. Weather's been pretty warm for this early in the year. Ground gets too dry, we're gonna have a problem with fires.”

Jackson nodded. In the past few years, what had rarely been a problem had become a very big one. Drought and forest fires were a huge concern. And having a logging operation creating sparks with their heavy machinery could make the situation even worse.

“I guess we'd better pray for rain.”

Jimmy grinned. “I'll talk to Dennis Redhorse, see what he can do.”

Redhorse was the local tribal medicine man, or at least his grandfather had been. Dennis was doing his best to follow in the old man's footsteps. Unfortunately, in these modern times, a lot of the old ways were lost as they passed from one generation to the next.

Jackson just smiled. “You do that.”

He looked over Jimmy's shoulder to a door leading out to the corral. Sarah sat on the fence while Sam led the little black pony, Midnight, around the ring—Holly
riding in the pony saddle. A few feet away, Gibby added an occasional instruction.

“She's been doing real good,” Jimmy said. “Sam's done a great job of teaching her.”

Jackson watched the way Holly held the reins just like Sam told her, not too tight and not too loose, and felt the pull of a smile. She was the sweetest little girl, exactly the sort he'd want if he ever had a kid.

His gaze drifted to Sarah. The sun was gleaming on her heavy chestnut hair, highlighting fine strands of red and making her skin glow. She smiled as she watched her daughter on the pony. The soft, full lips he remembered so well curved up at the corners, and inside his jeans he went hard.

Damn.
He reminded himself to stay away from her, as he had done last night and the night before that. He wanted to give her some breathing room, some time to consider what might lie ahead for them.

He wanted some time to consider those things himself.

But time wasn't going to change the hot desire he felt whenever he looked at her. Or whenever she looked at him—the way she was now.

The air seemed to heat and thicken between them. Sexual awareness crackled like invisible lightning around them. He knew she felt it, knew she fought it, just as he did, but it only made the wanting worse.

She jerked her gaze away, off toward the lane leading from the main road into the ranch. Jackson turned to see a plain brown sedan driving up the lane, pulling to a stop in front of the cottage. Two men in dark suits got out and started toward the front porch.

“I guess I better go see what they want,” Sarah said, but she didn't look happy about it.

“I'll go with you.”

Sarah seemed relieved. “Thanks.” When they reached the cottage, she paused at the bottom of the wooden steps and looked at the men on the porch. “May I help you?”

“FBI. We need to speak to you, Mrs. Hollister—in private.”

Her cheeks paled. “Could I please see your credentials?”

The men pulled out their IDs and flipped them open and Sarah climbed the steps to examine them. Jackson joined her.

“Can we go inside?” one of the agents asked, older than the other, maybe forty-five, his blond hair sparse.

“What is this in regard to?”

“As you know, your late husband was being investigated for tax evasion. We need to ask you some questions.”

Sarah's head jerked up. “I—I don't know anything about an investigation. I had no idea.”

Dev had mentioned it. Jackson knew the Feds had been after Hollister, but clearly Sarah didn't know.

He could see she was fighting for composure. “I'm Jackson Raines,” he said to give her the time she needed. “I own Raintree Ranch.”

“I'm Special Agent Lee Brooker,” the blond man said. “This is Special Agent Matt Davis.” Davis was tall, African-American, the shoulders of his dark brown sport coat snug over a solidly muscled frame.

“Mr. Raines is a friend,” Sarah said as the men shook
hands. “He'll be coming inside with me. We can speak in the kitchen.”

Sarah led them into the house and they all sat down at the old oak table in front of the kitchen window. She didn't offer them refreshment, just went straight to the point. “You've come quite a distance to see me. What is it you need to know?”

Jackson didn't miss the slight tremor in her voice.

Brooker began the conversation. “As I said, your husband was under investigation for tax evasion. Since you signed on the return, so are you.”

“But that…that isn't possible. I didn't know anything about Andrew's business. I don't even know how much he paid in taxes.”

“Not enough,” Matt Davis drawled, a slight Texas twang in his voice. “We figure, even if no criminal charges are filed against you, with interest and penalties, you'll owe somewhere around five million dollars.”

Sarah's shoulders drooped. Her complexion had faded to the color of sand. “Andrew left me virtually penniless. I couldn't possibly pay that kind of money.”

“Which you gentlemen undoubtedly know,” Jackson put in. “So why are you really here?”

Brooker flicked him a look of respect, then returned his attention to Sarah. “We think your husband was blackmailing someone, maybe several someones. Whoever it was is involved in illegal activities on a very large scale. We want to know who it is and what they were doing.”

Sarah swallowed. “As I said, I don't know anything about…about Andrew's business dealings. I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“Word is your husband kept a record,” Brooker
continued, “probably burned onto a computer disk. It's got the names of the people he dealt with and a record of their illegal endeavors. He was trying to sell that information back to them.”

“Extorting them for money,” Jackson said, which they already knew.

“That's right.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Sarah asked.

“From the information we've uncovered, we believe the people he was blackmailing are trying to find the disk. We think they'll contact you—if they haven't already. They won't feel safe until the information is returned to them.”

“Andrew's been dead for months. Why would they wait until now to go after the disk?”

“Probably waiting for things to cool down,” Davis drawled. “Hollister was murdered. There was a police investigation. By now, enough time has passed for them to crawl out from whatever rock they were under.”

“Well, I don't have it,” Sarah said, “and I have no idea where to find it.”

Brooker's voice softened. “We need to know who these men are, Mrs. Hollister. We want to know what they were doing and we want proof. In other words—we need the information on that disk.”

“And in return,” Jackson added, “you'll see that Sarah is cleared of any responsibility for Andrew Hollister's tax problems.”

Brooker smiled. “That's about it.”

Sarah looked sick. “I'm not a detective. I'm a mother trying to raise a child. I have no idea how to go about this kind of thing.”

Brooker looked directly at Jackson. “Maybe not, but I have a feeling your friend here may be able to help you.”

Sarah flicked a glance at Jackson. “But I don't know what to do. I haven't the slightest—”

“To start with,” Brooker interrupted, “keep us informed. Let us know when someone contacts you. And try to figure out where your husband hid that information.”

Sarah made no reply. She had wisely made no mention of their trip to L.A. or that Martin Kozak had already been pressing her for the disk.

“Sarah needs time to think this through,” Jackson said, “see how she might be able to help you.” They needed time, all right. Time to figure out what the hell to do.

The men rose from their chairs around the table. “You've got three days, Mrs. Hollister. We'll expect to hear from you by then.”