Against the Wind (16 page)

Susan seemed to like the idea, telling Sarah over the phone that she regretted not having talked to Teddy more about his responsibilities, as well as drugs, alcohol and sex, and that she and Bob were making much more of an effort to listen to what their son had to say.

Her interview was scheduled for two o'clock. There was still plenty of time, so Sarah called her grandmother, which she did as often as she could, wishing she could drive over to Sheep River to see her. With things the way they were, it wasn't going to happen right away.

“How are you, Gran?” Sarah asked.

“I'm doing just fine, sweetheart. Feels real good to be back home. Everything okay with you and Holly? You haven't had any more trouble like before?”

Things were far from okay, but she didn't say that to
Gran. “I'm trying to get the whole thing straightened out.” And maybe tomorrow, after her trip to Cheyenne, the situation would look better.

She and Gran chatted for a while, then Sarah hung up the phone on her desk, picked up her big leather purse, and started for the door, waving to Myra Cunningham as she passed the front counter.

“See ya later,” Myra called out, shoving a pencil into the frizzy gray-blond curls she had pulled back into a bun.

Sarah stepped out on the boardwalk and took a couple of paces before she spotted Nan Hargrove walking toward her.

“Sarah!”

“Nan! I've been meaning to call you.”
Would have if it weren't for the trouble that seems to follow me wherever I go.

“I know it's a little late for lunch, but have you eaten yet? I thought maybe you could get away for a sandwich or something.”

“I wish I had time. I have an appointment with Susan Springer to discuss an article I'm writing.”

“Well, maybe next time.” She started to turn away, but Sarah caught her arm.

“Listen, Nan, Jimmy Threebears came to see me. He wanted to talk about what happened the night he took you out. He asked me to speak to you about it.”

Nan's fiery red eyebrows went up. “Jim asked you to talk to me?”

Sarah tugged her a little way down the boardwalk, where no one could hear. “Jimmy said he screwed up that night. He said he was jealous of the men you'd
dated. He said he had been wanting to take you out for years. He said to tell you he was sorry.”

“If he was sorry, why didn't he call and tell me?”

“I don't know. I guess he didn't think you'd forgive him.”

Nan faintly smiled. “I might. If I thought he really meant it.” She tossed her long red hair back over one shoulder. “Tell him to call me. Tell him I'll listen to what he has to say.”

Sarah smiled. “I'll tell him the first chance I get.”

Nan reached over and hugged her. “Thanks, Sarah. You're a good friend.”

And for the first time Sarah realized that Nan was also a dear friend. The number of them had been growing since her arrival in Wind Canyon, something she hadn't really expected when she had decided to move back.

“I'll talk to you later,” Sarah said with a smile as she started walking toward the parking lot.

Her smile slowly faded. She hoped Nan wouldn't rush into a relationship with Jimmy. He had hurt her once. There was no telling what kind of man he really was. He said he had never abused a woman, but verbal abuse could be just as hurtful. Still…

Sarah shook her head as she climbed into her blue truck. It wasn't fair to assume every man was like Andrew. Surely she should know that by now.

But deep down inside she knew that for her, trusting a man completely would never be an easy thing to do.

C
heyenne, the state capital, was an interesting small Wyoming city. Interesting because, like Wind Canyon, the town was so completely and utterly Western. It's 1860s beginnings were apparent in the old brick buildings, the charming Victorian houses, the Wild West statues of buffalo and gunfighters that were scattered all over town—and the people themselves, men and women comfortable in worn jeans, cowboy hats and boots.

Summer visitors roamed the streets along with locals, and more would be arriving for the annual Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo next month. Sarah had never been to the event and she vowed to bring Holly sometime—after she got her life back in order.

Gabe's plane had landed safely. Sarah gazed out the windows of the white Buick sedan Jackson had rented at the airport and now drove toward the domed capitol building where the meeting was scheduled. As a kid,
she had visited Cheyenne a couple of times with her parents, but she barely remembered.

Now that she was older, the Western atmosphere captivated her completely. It would be fun to visit the museums or check out the old steam trains that once ran on the Transcontinental Railway tracks heading through town.

Not today.

Today all she wanted to do was to finish her meeting with the FBI and get the hell out of Dodge—or in this case, Cheyenne.

 

Jackson walked next to Sarah along the corridor leading to the small conference room down the hall in the capitol building, an historic brick structure completed in the early 1890s.

His brothers weren't coming to the meeting. Whatever means Dev had used to gain access to Vernon Rimmer's offshore accounts was undoubtedly illegal. Dev didn't want his name connected to the case in any way. Gabe just didn't like Feds.

Jackson spotted Thomas Carson, his attorney, a tall, imposing man with dark brown hair streaked with silver though he wasn't much past forty. Jackson had filled him in on the particulars of the situation during a lengthy phone call yesterday, and earlier this morning, he and Sarah had gone to Carson's office for a discussion of the case. Jackson had no doubt Carson would be prepared.

Sarah stopped when they reached him. In the brief time she and the lawyer had spent together, she seemed to have come to trust him. “Thank you for being here, Mr. Carson.”

Carson gave her a reassuring smile. “I thought we agreed you'd call me Thomas.” Sarah returned his smile. “You look like you're holding up. If we're lucky, this won't take too long.”

She seemed to relax a little.

“I just have a couple more questions before we go in,” the attorney said.

Sarah nodded. “All right.”

Thomas asked her to confirm a few more bits and pieces of information. Sarah asked him a couple of questions, then Jackson asked a few. Satisfied that they were all on the same page, Carson tipped his head toward the door.

“I think we're ready.” He turned to Sarah. “Once we're inside, let me do as much of the talking as possible. Don't volunteer any information. Answer only what's asked, and look to me for a nod before you do even that.”

“Okay,” Sarah agreed.

“Ready?” Jackson asked her.

She took a deep breath. “I guess.”

She was nervous. That much was clear, and yet when she walked into the room and caught sight of special agents Brooker and Davis seated next to an FBI higher-up—the guy with the power to make the deal—Jackson caught only the subtle squaring of her shoulders.

The men rose as she approached. “Mrs. Hollister, thank you for coming. I believe you know special agents Brooker and Davis. My name is Richard Kemp.” Six feet tall, medium build, dark blond hair, power tie and a decent navy-blue, pin-striped suit.

Sarah gazed at him steadily. She was wearing a
simple white cotton suit with white embroidery on the lapels, not too expensive but classy, the perfect choice for an occasion like this.

“Legally, my name is Sarah Allen. This is Jackson Raines and my attorney, Thomas Carson.”

Carson was no longer the big-time Chicago lawyer he had once been, but he still had a big reputation. Business was his specialty, which meant he had worked with a number of clients in tax-related matters. And this wasn't the first time criminal charges were involved.

All of them sat down around a long mahogany table. Carson slid a manila file across the table and Richard Kemp opened it. He took his time, carefully examining the contents, then looked over at Sarah's attorney.

“According to this letter, your client wishes to trade the name of the man she believes her late husband was blackmailing, along with information about his criminal activities and proof that will lead to the man's arrest. In exchange, she wants complete exoneration from any charges resulting from the ongoing investigation of Andrew Hollister's tax records.”

“As well as any other illegal matters in which he might have been involved,” Carson added. “She was, after all, an unknowing participant in her husband's affairs.”

Kemp flicked Sarah a glance. “We would have to know the name of the person or persons involved, the nature of the criminal activity and what you're offering as proof before we could agree. In other words we need to determine the value of what we are buying before we can make any sort of a deal.”

Carson's look fixed on Kemp. “But assuming you're satisfied with what we've brought to the
table—information your agents strongly indicated you needed—the government will agree.”

“As I said, we'll need to hear what you have, but if the information is all you claim—and your client only culpable as an unknowing spouse, we'll accept your terms.”

Jackson looked at Sarah. He could read the anxiety—and her hope that all of this would come to an end. Jackson wanted that same outcome. He cared about Sarah Allen. He wanted to explore a relationship with her and her daughter, see if there might be a future for them.

It was an idea that had started that day in the meadow. Watching her, seeing the joy on her face as she absorbed the beauty of the mountains, the way she seemed to respond to the land and to him had stirred something deep inside him. There was something about Sarah that drew him as no woman ever had, and since that day the feeling had been growing. He wanted to see where it led.

Still, there were obstacles to overcome. Three of them sat at the table across from her.

 

For the next half hour, Sarah sat rigidly at the table listening to Thomas Carson discuss Martin Kozak's illegal activities. Carson told the FBI about the bribes a state inspector had been taking to ignore Kozak's shoddy construction practices and offered to give them the inspector's name and the account numbers that contained the bribery money he had received.

“Let me get this straight,” Richard Kemp said. “Your client has somehow been able to obtain the numbers of the offshore accounts that contain the money this inspector was being paid?”

“That is correct.”

“I presume this information was contained on the disk Andrew Hollister was using in his blackmail attempt.”

“Ms. Allen knows nothing about the alleged disk and never has.”

Kemp leaned over and said something to the blond agent, Brooker. He looked back at Carson. “If that's the case, we'll need to know how she obtained the information.”

“I'm afraid that isn't possible,” Carson said.

Kemp turned to Sarah. “Mrs. Hollister?”

She refused to reply to the name.

“Excuse me, I meant, Ms. Allen.”

“I won't divulge my sources. That was never required when your agents came to see me demanding information.”

“As I said, in order to agree to your terms, we'll need—”

“We'll give you the inspector,” Jackson interrupted, “and his account information. You pressure him enough and he's going to roll over on Kozak. And you can simply follow the money. In the course of your investigation, there is every chance you'll run across other illegal activities Kozak is involved in. You'll have more than enough to prosecute.”

“My client won't even need to testify,” Carson added, “which means you won't need to worry about offering her protection.”

The men glanced back and forth, mentally going through their options. Even their years of training couldn't mask their excitement. It was clear they were interested in Marty Kozak, maybe had already suspected his criminal activities.

“So do we have a deal?” Carson quietly demanded.

The men spoke briefly one last time.

“We have a deal,” Kemp said.

“Good,” said Carson with the faintest of smiles. “In reliance upon your promise here and in exchange for the information I am about to hand over, I'll expect a memo to that effect faxed to my office this afternoon.”

Kemp gave a curt nod and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Martin Kozak would be dealt with. She would be free to get on with her life. She watched as Thomas Carson slid across the table a sheet of paper with Vernon Rimmer's name on it, along with a list of his bank account numbers in the Cayman Offshore Corporation. The knowledge of Rimmer's participation and the threat of a long jail term, Jackson had told her, would be enough to gain his cooperation and probably the return of the money.

Everyone stood up from the table.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mrs…. Ms. Allen.”

Sarah didn't bother to smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Turning, she walked out of the conference room. She had nothing more to say to the FBI.

And she hoped to God they never had anything more to say to her.

 

“I think we should celebrate.” Jackson reached out and caught hold of Sarah's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “I told my brothers I'd call as soon as we had a decision.” He pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket of his navy-blue sport coat. “I know a great little restaurant we can all go to for lunch.” He grinned. “I'm buying.”

“I wish I could join you,” Carson said, “but I had to rearrange my schedule to make time for this morning's
meetings. I promise I'll make it the next time you're in town—and I'll be the one to buy.”

Sarah looked up at the attorney and smiled. “Thank you, Thomas. You can't know how much this means.”

“You understand, this isn't completely over—not yet. It'll take a while for the government to move on this.”

“Not too long, I don't think,” Jackson said. “They won't want anything to happen to their case.”

“I'd say a couple of weeks. But until they have Kozak in custody and he realizes the FBI already knows about his illegal activities, you'll need to be careful, Sarah.”

“I will. And thank you again.” She took Carson's hand, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Ignoring a twinge of jealousy at the smile Carson gave her, Jackson settled an arm around her waist and led her toward the white Buick parked in the lot. He dialed his brothers.

“We made the deal. We're out of the woods—mostly. I'm buying lunch at Buffalo Bill's.”

“Great news!” said Dev. “We'll be there.”

Jackson closed the cell and slid it into his coat pocket. “Everything's going to be okay,” he said as he walked Sarah to the car.

She looked up at him. “That's what I keep telling myself.”

But there was something in her face that said she wasn't completely convinced.

 

Two weeks passed. Sarah had seen no sign of Kozak or his thugs. She had received a single phone call from Richard Kemp, telling her an arrest had been made. That same day, Jackson got a call from his brother in Scotts
dale. According to people in his L.A. office, Kozak's arrest had made the front page of the
Times.

“Dev says it's all over the news out there.” Jackson stood in the living room of the cottage, making the room feel smaller than it actually was. He had arrived with the news just moments ago. “I don't think you'll be hearing from your old buddy Kozak again.” He smiled. “He's too busy trying to stay out of jail.”

Sarah felt a sweep of relief so strong her legs went a little weak. Kozak had been dealt with. At last her life was her own.

Hearing a noise outside, Jackson walked over to the window to see the delivery truck pull up with the furniture Sarah had chosen to replace the pieces Kozak's goons had destroyed—a comfortable overstuffed sofa and chair in a dark green color with floral patterns in soft yellows, golds and browns, along with accent throw pillows.

“Looks like your furniture is finally here.”

Excitement filled her. The cottage already felt like home, but it would be nice to have something she had picked out herself. Jackson helped the men carry the furniture inside, but she knew he wouldn't stay long. She told herself she was glad he was giving her time to get her life back in order, that he hadn't pressed her to have sex with him.

She was glad, she told herself, but as she watched him helping the men carry the old furniture out and setting the new sofa and chair in place in front of the fireplace, she noticed the way his lean muscles bunched beneath his shirt and felt a soft tug low in her belly. An hour later, when she spotted him working in front of the barn, it was all she could do not to go to him, drag
him into the straw in one of the stalls, unzip his jeans and do delicious things to his magnificent body.

At the end of the day, when she saw him ride off on his beautiful horse, she wanted to follow him into the woods and demand he make love to her as he had that day in the meadow.

It was ridiculous. Embarrassing, even. She was afraid to look at him, afraid he could read the lustful thoughts she was trying so hard to hide.

Jackson didn't bother hiding his. The hot looks he gave her, the deep rusty tone of his voice when he spoke to her, told her how much he wanted her in his bed.

At least she had fulfilled her promise to Nan and spoken to Jimmy Threebears, relaying Nan's message to him.