Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe (19 page)

“My intuition says…” she dropped her voice “…that we should make love as soon as possible.”

“I'll put it on my schedule,” he said. “Right after I protect you from a deranged killer, rescue Nicole, and find the ransom.”

“If we wait too long, you'll be gone.”

“Maybe not.”

She couldn't guess what that meant. That he intended to spend a little more time here? How long? Where would he stay?

It was all too complicated.

She changed the subject. “Andrea liked my sculptures and pots. I'm going to display in her gallery.”

“Good news.” He gave her a huge hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. “You're the genius.”

She laughed. “I'll settle for good enough to start selling.”

“Does that mean you're packing up your kiln and moving to New York?”

“No way.” The sky behind him was a pure, deep blue. The winter air felt crisp. “This is home.”

When he kissed her, it felt good and right.

How long would she have to wait before they finally made love?

How many days should it take for her to tell him that she'd fallen in love with him at first sight?

After a couple of hours in the dining room with the high-powered threesome of Burke, Dylan and Carolyn, Jesse needed a break. He went outside and stood on the veranda. Afternoon shadows spread across the landscape. Sunset was only a couple of hours away. It would be another night with Nicole missing.

The discovery of a third person working with Butch and Richter put a different spin on their investigation. He'd listened to the different strategies, theories and plans from Burke and the two Carlisles. He'd looked at the maps they laid out, reviewed the prior case notes. Nothing in particular resonated.

Thus far, he'd had success as a tracker. Now his instincts told him that it was time to hunt, time for battle. His wounds had healed enough to take on a fight. Damn it, he was ready to kick ass. But whose ass needed kicking? Who was the third man working with Richter and Butch?

Fiona came out of the house and joined him. She rested her forearms on the railing, arched her back like a cat and stretched. Her round bottom presented an enticing target.

She said, “Abby's busy in the kitchen, making cookies with Polly. I thought I'd catch up on the investigation.”

“You're asking the wrong guy,” he said, still studying her rear end. “I tuned out.”

“Come on, Jesse. I want to know.”

“And I want to…”

When he playfully squeezed her bottom, she stood up straight and flashed him a grin. “I can't believe you did that.”

“No apology. You were asking for it, waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

“Okay, Mr. Bull.” She twitched her hips. “You've been in the dining room for hours. You must have come up with something.”

“Burke's working his cell phone. Carolyn and Dylan are mostly growling at each other.”

“They argue a lot,” she said. “Strong opinions on both sides.”

And not many answers. With a dearth of tangible leads and Richter disappearing into the forest like a jackrabbit, they had to go back to the beginning, starting with the question: who would want to kidnap Nicole? The wealthy, powerful Carlisle family had offended a lot of people over the years. There was a long list of enemies to consider.

“Dylan wants Burke to call in the FBI again.” Which Jesse considered a desperate move. “He's not thinking straight. Going door to door and asking questions isn't going to find his wife.”

She cocked her head and looked up at him. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Patience.”

As he watched, a cowboy on horseback came from the stables at the rear of the house and rode to the front gate.
He wore a gun at his hip and carried a rifle. At the main road, he relieved the guard on duty. Neat. Efficient.

Under Wentworth's supervision, the security at the Carlisle Ranch—using a combination of ranch hands and Longbridge Security employees—was excellent. Not quite military precision but close enough. Jesse owed his old friend a raise in pay. Or maybe a few weeks' paid vacation.
As if that pays him back for saving my life?

Beside him, she fidgeted. “I have to ask. Patience? What does that mean?”

“The hardest part of hunting is waiting. We've gathered information. Now we wait for the pieces to fall into place. We need one last clue that will make sense of everything.”

“Everything?” Her voice was skeptical.

“It's not that complicated.”

“Then how do you explain the secret room in my barn?” She held up her index finger. “That's my first question. Number two, who killed Butch Thurgood? Three, who bought Zeke O'Toole's car and why? Four, who's the third man?”

She waved her four fingers in front of his eyes, and he caught hold of her hand. “The only important questions are, Where's Nicole? Where's the ransom?”

Her fingers laced with his and she leaned closer. “How long? How long before all these questions are answered?”

“One explanation will lead to another. Our best lead is Zeke O'Toole. Burke put out a BOLO with the state police.”

“BOLO?”

“Be On the Look-Out,” he explained. “When we find Zeke and find out who he sold his car to, we'll have answers.”

She glanced down. When she looked up again, her eyes gleamed like silver. “I've never been good at waiting.”

“It's all part of the hunt.” He raised her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his hands off her. “You have to know when to take action. And when to hold back.”

Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “We're not talking about the investigation anymore, are we?”

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“I want you, too.”

Everything about her excited him. The curve of her full lips. The way her chin lifted when she smiled. He wanted to make love to her right now. She was sexy and sassy and had made it damn clear that she was ready.

But he wanted more from Fiona than a one-night stand. He wanted a commitment. They were meant to be together; he'd sensed their connection the first time he saw her.

Thinking back to that time, he smiled. Was it only three days ago? Her appearance was so different from when they met. Before, she was waiflike and fragile. “You've changed in the past few days.”

“How so?”

He stepped back and framed her with his hands, as if taking her picture. “You've always shown your emotions. Now you own them. You're confident.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “How did you get to be so perceptive?”

“I think I've told you—about a hundred times—that I need to be able to read people in my line of work.”

She moved closer again. Her hand rested against his chest. “What am I thinking right now?”

Her body language was clear. This was a woman who wanted kissing. She was filled with sensual longing. Ripe.

“If we were alone,” he murmured, “I could tell you
what I see. And what I want. But those words are going to have to wait.”

“Why?”

He pointed toward the front gate. Belinda's aged station wagon turned toward the house. She waved to the guard and drove forward.

Fiona straightened her jacket. “I'm glad Mickey's here. Abby has been driving Polly crazy in the kitchen.”

Belinda pulled into the parking area and got out of the car. Mickey dashed ahead of her and jumped up the steps to the veranda. “My daddy has a ranch.”

“Yes, he does,” Fiona said.

“And horses.” Mickey puffed out his chest.

Belinda came up behind him. “I really appreciate this, Fiona. Do you think I could run inside and thank Carolyn?”

“Sure.”

Jesse held the door and followed them inside. Mickey disappeared into the kitchen, where he and Abby greeted each other loudly. Belinda and Fiona went to the dining room.

Carolyn sat at the head of the dining-room table while her brother paced behind her. Dylan paused when they entered the room and looked toward them. Both Carlisles were striking—tall with black hair and pale green eyes.

As the shapely Belinda, wearing her fringed jacket, black slacks and waitress shoes, approached them, Jesse was reminded of a maidservant approaching royalty. In a way, that's what Carolyn and Dylan were—the inheritors of an empire, a multimillion-dollar, international business.

Intimidated, Belinda almost bowed as she came closer.

Fiona pulled her friend forward. “Carolyn and Dylan, I'd like to introduce Belinda Miller.”

“Nate's wife?” Dylan barked.

“Not anymore,” Fiona said smoothly.

“Divorced,” he said. “I remember something about a restraining order.”

“That's enough,” Carolyn snapped at him as she rose from the chair and shook Belinda's hand. “Please excuse my brother. He's has the social graces of a jackass.”

“Thanks so much for letting my son come over.” Belinda's voice was hesitant. “Like I said to Fiona, I need all the work I can get with Christmas right around the corner.”

“Belinda works at the café in Riverton,” Fiona said. “And that gives me an idea. Everybody in town comes through the café. Belinda could keep an eye out for us. You know, a BOLO.”

“I'd like to help out,” Belinda said. “I feel terrible about Nicole. She helped me and Mickey rescue a stray dog that got hit by a car. Nicole's got a big heart.”

When she mentioned Nicole, Dylan scowled and folded his arms across his chest. He looked angry and imperious, but Jesse saw deeper. Dylan was coming to realize how little he knew about his wife. Nicole had taken the time to be friends with this woman, and Dylan didn't even know her name.

“First thing,” Fiona said. “Do you know Zeke O'Toole?”

“Silas O'Toole's grandson? Sure, I know him. A cheapskate, just like his grandpa. Why on earth do you care about him?”

“He might have sold his car to the kidnappers,” Fiona said.

Jesse liked the idea of using Belinda's natural contacts. He asked the next question. “How about Pete Richter? Have you ever met him?”

Belinda's chewed her lower lip. “I'm not sure. The Sons of Freedom guys didn't come to the café often. More likely, they were at the tavern.”

“There's a photo of Richter on the computer,” Fiona said.

Carolyn flipped the laptop with the case file around so Belinda could see. She tapped a few keys. “The mug shots should be in one of the photo files.”

But the image that appeared on the screen was Nicole in a proof-of-life photo. In the background was a pale yellow sheet they now knew had been hung on the wall in the secret room under Fiona's barn. Nicole held the newspaper for the day following her kidnapping. The collar of her flowered cotton shirt seemed to emphasize the paleness of her skin. But her jaw was set, and her eyes showed fierce determination.

Belinda gasped. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “That's after she was kidnapped.”

“Sorry,” Carolyn said. “Wrong file.”

She flipped to the mug shots, zeroed in on the photo of Richter and made it full screen. “This is Richter.”

Nervously, Belinda shook her head. “I don't recognize him. But I'll watch for him.”

Burke charged into the room, holding his cell phone aloft like the Olympic torch. “They found the car. Sheriff Trainer found it abandoned outside town.”

Inside, there would be a wealthy of forensic evidence. Fingerprints. Hairs. Traces.

This investigation was drawing to a close.

 

A
FTER A SHOWER
in Silas O'Toole's bathroom, Pete Richter got dressed fast. The clothes he found in Zeke's room fit him just fine. Zeke had a fine collection of Western-style shirts with pearl snaps. Richter chose one with a black yoke. He was glad to get rid of the clothes he'd been wearing for days. Even the squirrels could smell him coming.

After he fastened his holster on his hip and his hand ax on the other side, he put on fresh socks and his boots. Soon, he'd be able to afford everything new. Soon, the ransom would be his. After all he'd gone through, he damn well deserved that money.

He sauntered out of the bedroom and walked through Silas O'Toole's filthy house. The old man had money; he should have hired a woman to clean up this dump and cook some decent food. The only thing in the fridge was baloney and white bread.

He stood in the kitchen doorway and stared hard at his captive. Richter had grabbed Zeke as soon as the punk walked through the front door a half hour ago. His plan had been to make the kid talk right away and get the hell out of there. But he'd been a little too aggressive with his questions, and Zeke passed out. He'd been sitting here, tied to the kitchen chair with duct tape over his mouth, while Richter changed his clothes and got ready to start his new life.

“You're awake,” Richter growled.

Zeke's eyes were scared. Blood matted the dirty blond hair on the side of his head.

“If you tell me what I want to know,” Richter said, “I won't have to kill you. Understand?”

Zeke nodded.

This was going to be easy. Richter had wasted days trying to nab Fiona Grant. When he overheard one of those bodyguards talking about the getaway car, he almost kicked himself. He hadn't known the car was newly purchased from Zeke O'Toole when he stuffed Nicole into the trunk and drove to the meeting place. All Richter had been thinking about was following the plan he and Butch had been told over the phone.

He'd been stupid to trust the guy who gave them those orders. At first, he'd thought it was one of the guys from the SOF, maybe even Logan himself. He was wrong. All those boys had been rounded up by the FBI.

Then he figured it might be one of the ranch hands at the Carlisle place. One of them had been working with Logan.

Or it could have been somebody from town.