Colorado Abduction (8 page)

“Sure. It was Sam Logan.”

Burke and Carolyn, who continued talking into her cell phone, returned to the gas station—which still wasn’t open for business. Sheriff Trainer had parked beside the Carlisle truck, and Trainer himself leaned against the wall beside the phone. When he saw them coming, he stubbed out his cigarette and tossed the butt in a trash can.

“Is this the phone?” the sheriff asked.

Burke nodded. “Be sure to check the coins inside for prints.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“Do you know Nate Miller?”

“He’s a mean son of a gun. When his wife separated from him, she had to take out a restraining order. I guess they patched things up since then because she withdrew the order and, from what I understand, she lets him visit with his kid.”

“I want you to search his house.”

The sheriff showed very little surprise. “You think he kidnapped Nicole?”

“He’s a suspect.” And a man without an alibi. “He claims he was alone all day yesterday. Difficult to verify, but see if you can find anyone who saw him. After that, I’d appreciate if you could come out to the ranch house.”

“I’ll be there.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and
took out a toothpick wrapped in cellophane, which he peeled. He stuck the pick in the corner of his mouth. “I sure wish I’d done things different. The first time Dylan called me about the sabotage, I should have undertaken a serious investigation, maybe even called in the state cops.”

“Do you think the kidnappers are the same guys?”

“Don’t you?”

“The obvious conclusion isn’t always correct.” As an investigator, Burke kept an open mind to all the possibilities. “This investigation is going to be a whole lot easier when our eyewitness can make an ID.”

“The security guard,” Trainer said. “How’s he doing?”

“Still unconscious. The doctors expect him to wake up, but they won’t say when.” He returned to more positive action. “I want a detailed, thorough search at Miller’s house. Copy the hard drive of his computer. Search his files. Check for footprints and fingerprints. If there’s a single hair from Nicole’s head, I want you to find it.”

Trainer bit down hard on his toothpick. “We’ve got the forensic equipment and the training. But I can’t guarantee that we won’t miss something. We’re not as experienced as the Colorado Bureau of Investigation.”

Burke didn’t want to involve another law enforcement agency. Last night he’d arranged for other FBI investigation teams—a chopper and tracker dogs. All of whom would answer directly to him. “I’ll send Agent Smith over to Miller’s place to give you a hand. See you back at the ranch.”

In the truck, Burke held off on telling Carolyn about Miller’s supposed sighting of Logan at the public phone. Nate Miller was an unreliable witness. And she appeared to have her hands full with bank negotiations. Since the moment she’d answered that call in Winnie’s Café, her cell had been glued to her ear.

His suspicions turned toward the inside man at the ranch. Someone—one of those supposedly loyal cowboys—had taken her phone and passed the number to the kidnappers. Burke considered gathering up all the cell phones and running a check on recent numbers called. But that still wasn’t proof. The inside man could have used somebody else’s phone. It was better not to alert the traitor that they were looking for him.

Carolyn disconnected her call, sank back against the seat and exhaled in a long whoosh. “I’ve got the ransom.”

“How’s it going to work?”

“With reams of paperwork, transfers of funds and a friendly contact at the Federal Reserve Bank. One million in cash.”

“I’m impressed.” Truly he was. Not many people could summon up a million in cash on a few hours’ notice.

“In our business, we regularly handle large transactions,” she said. “In addition to our own herd, we work with sixty other cattle ranches of various sizes.”

He remembered her earlier explanation of their international business. “Other producers of certified organic beef. They’re contracted with you for distribution.”

“We pay them on delivery of their stock, even when we don’t have payment from the end purchaser.”

She took off her hat and smoothed her black hair into a ponytail. Though she looked like a cowgirl, she’d gone into high-power executive mode. She was an impressive CEO, no doubt about it.

And yet, she’d wept in his arms. Normally, he didn’t respond well to tears, but he’d been relieved when Carolyn had her outburst. Even when vulnerable, she was strong. The only woman he had ever loved had been formidable—a law professor—tough, independent and intelligent. Sexy as hell.

Much like Carolyn.

“My attorney,” she said, “is working through our Denver
bank to get the cash. He’ll charter a helicopter and deliver the ransom after lunch.”

“A million dollars is going to make a heavy package.”

“I’ve thought of that,” she said. “The money will be placed in one of those giant mountain-climber backpacks.”

“Sounds like you’ve handled every detail.” Though she didn’t look like the strain had affected her, he purposely lightened the mood. “Here’s what I think. We should take that backpack and hike to the top of a fourteener. We unzip the pack and we throw all that cash into the wind.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Greed is a prime motivator in crime. From kids stealing hundred-dollar sneakers to million-dollar ransoms, it’s all about greed. Get rid of the money and you’ll cut down on crime.”

“For a fed, you have some strange ideas.”

“Haven’t you ever thought of what it would be like to live on a deserted island without a penny to your name? Surviving on coconuts and berries.”

“My fantasies run more toward riding off into the sunset and never looking back.” Finally, she grinned. “Just ride forever. No more spreadsheets, stock quotes, negotiations and conferences. A simple life.”

He’d like to give her that peace of mind. He wanted to see how she acted when she wasn’t under life-and-death stress. Would she laugh when he made jokes? What was her favorite food? More importantly…what was she like in bed? Though he had no right to think about her that way, his imagination formed an immediate picture of Carolyn stretched out naked on satin sheets, her black hair fanned out on the pillows, her arms reaching for him and her toes pointed.

He shook his head to erase that vision. After this ordeal, she’d never want to see him again. His mere presence would be a reminder of this terrible chapter in her family history.

“We need a plan,” he said.

“For what?”

Her full lips parted. Her eyes were warm and expectant, as if waiting for a kiss. Instinctively, he leaned closer to her. His voice lowered. “A plan for when we get back to the ranch. If the kidnapper has an inside man, we need to be sure he doesn’t overhear any of our strategy. For example, we don’t want him to know you’ve arranged for the ransom.”

“I get it.”

“Good.” He was pleased with himself for reining in his fantasies and sounding rational.

“But I need to tell Dylan. He needs to know about the inside man. And the ransom.” Her fleeting grin was replaced with renewed tension. “You’re right about throwing the money away. If we weren’t rich, Nicole would never have been kidnapped.”

“True.” Kidnapping was a crime that affected the privileged. “But if you were poor, you’d have a whole different set of problems.”

Her lips were pinched. “As soon as we get to the ranch house, I’ll tell Dylan we have to talk in private. I’ll take him upstairs to my bedroom. You meet us there.”

A
S THEY ENTERED THE RANCH
house, they put their plan into effect. While Burke briefed his men and dispatched Agent Smith to assist the sheriff with his forensic investigation at Miller’s house, Carolyn pulled her brother aside.

Grabbing a mug of black coffee, Burke headed upstairs to join Carolyn and her brother. He climbed halfway up the polished wood staircase and looked down. A husky cowboy whose name he didn’t recall sauntered through the front door. The newly hired MacKenzie bounded past him, talking nonstop into his walkie-talkie. From the kitchen, he heard
Polly giving instructions to her cooking crew who grumbled back at her. Too many people had access to the ranch house; finding the traitor wouldn’t be easy.

He continued up the staircase. The dark green carpet runner muffled the thud of his boot heels. On the landing he hesitated. He and his men were housed in guest rooms at the north end of the upstairs hallway. Carolyn had told him that her bedroom was the second door on the south. Without knocking, he stepped inside.

A tall glass cabinet beside the window housed a display of riding trophies and blue ribbons, but that was the only hint of cowgirl. Her furniture was modern with clean lines. Blond wood and burgundy. Her bed was neatly made.

In different circumstances, entering her bedroom might have been akin to entering the Promised Land. Not now. The tension in this room was thick.

Carolyn stood by the window, scowling fiercely.

Dylan’s hands were clenched into fists. He looked like he was ready to punch a hole in the smooth, cream-colored wall. Apparently, Carolyn had already given him the bad news.

“I can’t believe it.” His jaw was so tight that his lips barely moved. “A traitor. One of my own men.”

“I’m sorry,” Burke said. And he meant it.

“There is good news,” Carolyn said. “I’ve made all the arrangements for the money. It’ll be delivered by three o’clock.”

“Dylan,” Burke snapped his name, compelling his attention. “The information about the ransom is the kind of thing we need to keep secret. When the kidnapper calls again and you talk to him, don’t tell him you have the cash. Ask for more time.”

“Why?”

The truth was brutal, but it was better to face reality. “As
long as he doesn’t have the ransom, he needs to keep Nicole alive. She’s his bargaining chip. And we need proof that she’s all right. Do you hear me?”

Dark circles surrounded Dylan’s eyes. In their depths, Burke saw a terrible pain. He’d experienced that agony. He knew the hell of losing someone you loved, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do to alleviate the suffering.

Dylan squared his shoulders. “Until the kidnapper calls, what do we do?”

“We investigate. As we speak, the sheriff is executing a search warrant on Nate Miller’s house.”

A commotion from downstairs interrupted him. It sounded like twenty cowboys on horseback had stormed through the front door.

The three of them hustled from the bedroom to the staircase. A redheaded cowboy waved from the bottom of the staircase and held up a manila envelope. “I found it. Here it is. I found it.”

Burke reached down and plucked the sealed envelope from his hand. In square block letters, it read: “Dylan Carlisle. Proof.”

“Where did you find this?” Burke asked.

“Tied to a fence post in the south pasture.” A huge grin split his face. “I went to feed the herd and there it was. I didn’t open it. On account of it was addressed to Dylan.”

Dylan patted his shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

Actually, Burke would have preferred having the envelope left in place. There might have been clues, like footprints or the way the knots were tied. “Agent Silverman is going to open the envelope. He’ll need to handle it carefully in case there are fingerprints or DNA.”

In the dining room, they stood waiting while Silverman—wearing latex gloves—slit the edge of the envelope and removed a photograph.

“A Polaroid,” Silverman said. “You don’t see many of these anymore. Not with digital cameras.”

The picture showed Nicole with a determined smile on her face. She held the front section of today’s newspaper.

“Proof of life,” Carolyn whispered.

Silverman placed the photo on the table. “Don’t touch it. I doubt we’ll find fingerprints, but we might get lucky.”

As the others crowded around to take a closer look at the photo, Burke moved to the end of the table where Corelli was still monitoring phone calls. In a low voice, he issued instructions. “That’s a Denver newspaper. Find the delivery time in this area, the locations for delivery and a list of local subscribers. Get the sheriff to canvass stores where the paper is sold.”

“Got it.” Corelli gave a nod.

“Is there any way to set up continual surveillance on that south pasture? It’s about thirty acres.”

“I could do it with satellite,” he said. “I don’t have that kind of equipment here, but I could interface with Denver. Don’t get your hopes up, Burke. The mountains are hard to search. It depends on sight lines and location.”

Burke grabbed the red-haired cowboy who was still beaming proudly. “I need for you to think carefully.”

“Sure thing.”

“Describe the terrain in the area where you found the envelope.”

“It was up by the trees. I wouldn’t have noticed at all except for this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long yellow scarf. “I saw it flapping in the wind.”

“It’s Nicole’s.” Dylan took the scarf from him and gently caressed the material. “I bought it for her myself.”

Technically, the scarf was evidence and needed to be treated as such. But Burke doubted there would be any viable
prints or DNA after being stuffed in the cowboy’s pocket. There was no harm in allowing Dylan to cling to this scrap.

Turning away, he glanced at Corelli. “How about surveillance in the south pasture?”

“The best surveillance for this much land is probably a helicopter.”

“I’ve already arranged for a chopper.” He’d made that call last night. His superior had objected to the expense, but he reminded them that the FBI was investigating this kidnapping at the request of the governor.

He checked his wristwatch. “They should be here by noon. They’re also bringing tracking dogs.”

Corelli raised an eyebrow. “Things are about to get real exciting around here.”

“Is there anything else you can do with computers? What about thermal imaging?”

“I brought a heat-sensing camera with me. It’s long range. I can scan from about fifty yards away.”

“That might come in handy.”

Carolyn appeared at his side. “Come with me.”