Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (5 page)

When they arrived at the building housing the sheriff’s
department, the dispatcher was talking on the telephone at the reception desk,
a rectangular enclosure containing the radio equipment and filing cabinets. She
waved them toward the offices. “Sheriff ain’t busy. You boys can go on back.”

Chapter 5

They followed the rumble of male voices past a
departing deputy and two secretaries to Sheriff Jarvis Foley’s office.

“Hey, Donovan. Come on in and pull up a chair.” A
jovial, barrel-chested man with a gray-streaked handlebar mustache, Foley
reclined in his executive swivel chair with his booted feet crossed on the
desktop.

His chief deputy, Luke Rafferty, sat in a wooden
chair. Odors of musty files and stale coffee permeated the office.

“Thanks, Sheriff.” After shaking the older man’s gnarled
hand, Holt took an empty chair.

Behind him, Chris slid inside quietly. He stood to
Holt’s left, one elbow propped on a bookcase.

“I see you brought your Legal Eagle.” Scowling,
Rafferty turned his chair to face Chris. His tawny hair and cool green eyes
gave the impression of a cougar about to pounce.

“Never hurts to have counsel.” Chris’s level, dark
stare matched the other man’s. “You of all people should know that.”

Holt blinked at the palpable animosity arcing between
the men. Rafferty had left the Denver police force under hazy circumstances,
but most folks in Rock County knew better than to mention it to him. Apparently
Holt had missed bad blood between Chris and Luke.

“How’s it goin’ out there at the Valley-D? You
managing all right with just you and Bronc?” the sheriff asked.

“We’re getting by.” Holt was here to get to Rob’s
case, but he forced himself to endure the courtesies.

“And Rob’s kid? Bobby, is it? How are you taking care
of a baby and birthing calves too?” Rafferty put in.

“Maddy’s staying awhile.”

The deputy barked a cynical laugh. “I thought you’d
boot Maddy McCoy up the road after she paid her respects. When I dropped her
off, it felt like putting a fox in a wolf den.”

“Who?” The sheriff wound a finger around one end of
his mustache.

Before Holt could explain, Rafferty plowed in. “Eight
years ago, Madelyn McCoy was engaged to Holt’s brother. When she left poor Rob
stepping on his tongue at the altar—and I mean that literally—Holt just about
swore a vendetta on the female.”

“Ironic,” Chris said, “to have her return to care for
Rob’s child.”

“Maybe, but we’ve all grown up some since then. I’m
grateful to have her.” Holt winced inwardly.
Having
her was out of the
question.

He returned his attention to Foley, who raised one
frosted eyebrow, mild interest in the live soap opera. “You got any news for
me, Sheriff?”

“Ballistics report came in yesterday. I was going to
give you a call.” Foley pushed a folder across the desk.

“What took so long?” Holt opened the folder.

“They’re real backed up in Colorado Springs. A request
from a spit-sized county like Rock don’t get priority.”

After a moment’s perusal, Holt clenched his jaw. He
recognized the .50 caliber. “Only a high-powered sniper rifle would use an
exploding bullet. We can’t call the crash an accident any longer.” He passed
the folder to Chris.

“Maybe
you
can’t, but I’m still not sure. Some
hunter shootin’ off too fast.”

The sheriff was being cautious about treading on local
toes, Holt reckoned. Especially those of hunters. Clamping down on out-of-state
hunters could raise the ire of county businesses that catered to them.

Holt’s outward shell of calm was chipping away. “Come
off it, Jarvis. Someone sat in that stand of trees opposite the precipice and
waited to blow out Rob’s tires. Someone deliberately killed my brother and his
wife. That was no accident. It was murder.”

“Would a hunter have used this caliber?” Chris tossed
the file onto the desk.

The sheriff gave a noncommittal wag of his head. “No
one around here has a high-tech rifle like that.” He laughed. “Who knows what
some of these rich tourists have?”

“Some guy could’ve seen a bear and been waiting for
him to return. Maybe he sighted the critter at the same time Rob came by,”
Rafferty said.

Holt’s patience with these damn-fool suggestions
shrank to a nub. He fired out of his seat. “Unlikely. And it’s not hunting
season.”

“Exactly why someone might keep it to himself.” Foley
held up a hand to stay Holt’s impending explosion. “I’m not sayin’ it
couldn’t
be murder. It’s my duty to bring the perpetrator to justice whether it’s an
accident or murder. I want to be sure is all.”

“You taking it slow on purpose, Sheriff? Biding time
until your retirement next fall?”

Defensiveness flickered across Foley’s lined features before
indulgence replaced it. “Now, Holt, you know better’n that. All cases will have
serious attention until my last day. Besides, I’m not too sure about
retirement. What would I do with my time?”

Rafferty’s brooding attention veered from Chris to
Holt. “Right after the crash, we checked the whereabouts of practically
everyone in town. Me and the other deputies interviewed the guests at the
Circle-S and the wranglers on every spread around. Only ones we didn’t get were
a few drifters who’d moved on.”

“We came up empty,” Foley said. “All the logical
suspects had alibis.” His boots slammed to the floor. He straightened in his
chair, the politician’s easy smile transformed to a determined glare. “Now that
we have this report, we’ll go over everything all over again.”

“Damn right. You missed something.” Holt stopped
stalking and gripped the back of the wooden chair. His gut churned. “Because
someone who knew what he was doing—the killer—arrived ahead of my brother’s old
pickup on that winding mountain shortcut. He waited in hiding, maybe for hours.
He blew out the truck’s tires at just the right angle and time to send them
over the cliff to their death.”

Chris Hawke fingered his amulet with a thoughtful
expression on his face. “Suppose it was murder. What possible motive could
someone have to kill Rob Donovan? Or Sara?”

“Exactly why I think it must have been an accident,”
the sheriff said. “Everyone liked Rob. You couldn’t find a nicer guy. Why he’d
do anything for you, give you the shirt off his back. And Sara was a sweet kid,
a new mother. Who would harm either one of them? Who would want them dead?”

No one could care as much about solving this case as
Holt did. With most of the county’s cases involving drunk drivers, domestic
disputes, and kids sowing wild oats, the sheriff’s department didn’t have much
experience with homicides. “Exactly what I propose to find out, Sheriff, if you
won’t. Or can’t.”

“Too bad the Legal Eagle here can’t help you find the
killer’s tracks.” Rafferty’s smile was as thin as splintered wood. “Thought you
people were great hunters and trackers.”

Chris moved to stand beside his client. “My ancestors,
yeah, Rafferty. Just like yours used to be straight-shooters.”

The deputy tensed, ready to escalate the
confrontation. A cough from the sheriff broke the strain. Rafferty subsided.

Chris strolled out of the office as if nothing had
happened.

“Be careful, Holt.” Sheriff Foley sat and put up his
feet. “The DEA has no jurisdiction in this case.”

“All I’m going to do is talk to people.” Since he’d
resigned, Holt had no status with the DEA. He wouldn’t disabuse the sheriff of
his mistake. For the time being, his reputation as a government agent would
serve his purpose. “Anything I learn I’ll share with your office.”

After Holt dropped Chris Hawke off at his law office
in Rangewood, he stopped at the feed store for calf vitamins.

A man was loading grain sacks into the back of a black
Ford 250 pickup that might have been the one behind him earlier. If Rob’s
killer was still around, he might worry about Holt involving himself in the
case. He parked beside the truck and eased out.

“Hey, Holt, you’ve been a stranger. Good to see you,
man.” It was Will Rafferty, Luke’s brother and the manager of the Circle-S. He
was as tall as Holt and a few years older. His powerful build reminded Holt of
the man’s steer wrestling days. A compassionate expression on his face, he
slipped off his work gloves and stuck out a beefy hand.

Holt took it. “Good to see you, Will. Guess I’ve stuck
to home since the funeral.”

“How’s that little nephew of yours?” Will leaned one
elbow against the truck and slapped the grain dust from his gloves on the
tailgate. “You managing okay? You must be now you have a house guest.”

Holt forced back a groan. Didn’t take long for Faith
to tell her brother Maddy’d moved in. “Just fine now that Maddy’s there.” It
had been only one day, so he wasn’t lying.

Humor glimmered in the former bulldogger’s eyes. He
lowered one eyelid in a conspiratorial wink. “I reckon you’re a lucky man as
long as you two don’t battle it out like the Hatfields and McCoys. Or maybe
you’ve made up. How about it?”

“We grew up together. We’re old friends. That’s all.”
Old friends and old enemies and old...nothing, under a white-diaper flag of
truce. So far.

Holt noticed for the first time the Circle-S brand
logo on the side of the Ford truck. Distinctive. If it was the same one from
earlier, Will had spent an awful long time at the feed store. Had to have been
some other black truck.

“If you folks want a break from diapers and formula,
come on over. My sister wants time to get reacquainted with Maddy.”

“How is Faith, anyway? She came to the funeral, but I
didn’t talk to her much.” He pictured the brown-haired woman, once a champion
barrel racer, now confined to a wheelchair after a horse fell on her, crushing
her spine.

The other man shrugged. “She’s mostly okay, but she
hardly leaves the ranch. She does manage to organize the children’s activities
for the guests. We’re all just grateful she’s alive. She’s using a walker a bit
now. So that’s progress.”

“That accident was a terrible tragedy,” Holt said.

For a few more minutes, they discussed their calf
crops and the weather. Will slammed the tailgate, prepared to drive away. “I
meant what I said, Holt, about coming over to the Circle-S anytime. Bring
Maddy.”

“Sure thing. You might as well know. I’m not entirely
satisfied with Sheriff Foley’s handling of my brother’s case. I’d like to come
talk to you about that day and about Rob.”

“About Rob?” Will glanced away as he keyed the ignition.
When his gaze again met Holt’s, his expression was guarded. “I’ll tell you
whatever I can, but I don’t know much.”

Holt watched the 250 vanish down the highway. Unease
edged into suspicion. Will Rafferty would be the first rancher he’d question.

*****

He punched in the number he’d been given. The phone
rang once, twice, three times before someone picked up. He gave the coded
Spanish words.

His employer’s accented voice, when it came
nerve-wracking moments later, rasped in his ear. “What news do you have for
me?”

“He has a woman now. Been there about three days.”

“That could be promising. Do not wait too long.”

“Can’t rush things. You said he wasn’t to know for
now. Making it look accidental requires planning and time.” He knew his fuckin’
job. He didn’t like dealing long distance this way. The guy had a hell of a
nerve.

“If you cannot accomplish a simple task, I will find
someone who can. I want no more mistakes.”

Adrenaline revved his pulse. He licked his lips. He
knew what they’d done to the guy he’d replaced. Gutted like a brook trout
wasn’t the way he wanted to buy it. He wouldn’t fail. “You won’t need someone
else,
señor
. I’ll earn my money.”

“See that you do so—and soon.”

*****

“Who? Whazzit?” Maddy’s eyes wouldn’t open, but she
could see.

Rob stood outside the truck. Smooth-cheeked and slim
in his charcoal wedding suit, he was the twenty-year-old boy she’d left at the
altar standing beside his dad. He said nothing, a mournful expression on his
usually cheerful face.

Her neck hurt. Sleeping in the back of her truck had
contorted her to unnatural angles. She opened her mouth, but the air
disappeared, forcing her to gasp like a fish on a line. Sweat beaded her brow,
and her heart raced. After endless minutes, she managed to breathe, but terror
engulfed her.

No, no! Go away!
She clawed at the door handle,
but her hand kept slipping away.

She screamed soundlessly. A siren rent the mist. Rob
disintegrated into the darkness. Again the siren’s shriek dragged her from her
inertia. She fumbled again, but the door handle had morphed into a table lamp.
She turned the button on its base.

The glare shocked her senses and illuminated reality.
No car. She was in a king-size bed. Blinking against the grogginess that
threatened to drag her back under, she sat up. A nightmare. Only a nightmare.
Her clattering heartbeat slowed, and she sucked in air. Anguish wrenched a sob
from deep in her soul. She dragged shaking fingers through her hair.

Finally the noise pierced her consciousness. No siren.
Her alarm.

Bobby
. Two in the morning. Bottle time. She
pushed the button and forced herself to sit up. When she swung her feet to the
carpet, her heel struck the book that had lulled her to sleep.

Baby’s First Months
. She’d found it in the
bedside table her first night. Whoever had carted away Sara’s and Rob’s
personal belongings and clothing had missed this valuable resource. It was her
bible, her treasure, her mine of knowledge on baby care. With what she gleaned
from its pages, she was impressing Holt with her expertise.

Then Bobby the foghorn cranked up an ear-splitting
wail that was no dream.

“Coming, sweetie,” she whispered. Her bare legs chilly
beneath the sleep shirt, she padded to the door. Since the first night Holt had
allowed her the privilege of feeding time and answering nocturnal sirens.