Wyoming Bold (Mills & Boon M&B) (16 page)

“Cody isn’t here yet,” Mallory noted, looking around, referring to the sheriff. “I called him before we left the hospital.”

“Can we see her room?” Tank asked.

“Of course...”

“No,” Mallory said, stopping him. “It’s a crime scene now. Let Cody’s investigator get to work.”

“Crime scene,” Tank said numbly.

“Attempted murder,” Mallory replied tersely. “If we can catch him now, he’ll go away for a very long time. We just have to prove it was him.”

Carson came from around the side of the house. “I’ve got cameras on top of cameras...” He stopped, staring uncomprehending at the others. “What’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear the ambulance?” Tank asked, astonished.

Carson scowled. “What ambulance? No, I’ve been all over the property putting up sensors...” He stopped and stared at them. “Oh, my God. Merissa?”

“She’ll be all right, the doctor thinks,” Tank said worriedly. But he looked at Clara and she was nodding and smiling. He relaxed a little.

“I was only gone for thirty minutes,” Carson groaned. “I didn’t realize it would take so long. God, I’m sorry!” he told Clara.

“It’s all right,” she said. “She’s going to be fine.”

“The sheriff’s on his way,” Tank told Carson. “With his investigator. Don’t touch anything.”

Carson’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll go along with the investigator if there’s a trail. I can track an ant.” He moved closer to Tank. “You can slug me, if you like.”

“You were trying to protect them,” Tank said heavily. “I might have done the same thing. At least she didn’t die.”

“What happened to her?” Carson asked, still grim.

“She took what she thought was a prescription medicine for a headache,” Clara said, “but someone had substituted Malathion for the drug in the capsules. It’s a miracle it didn’t kill her. She only took one capsule, thank God.”

“I don’t think that was his purpose at all,” Mallory repeated. “I don’t think he meant to kill her. He’s toying with Tank.”

Carson’s eyes narrowed. “I knew a guy like that once, who worked in spec ops,” he said, frowning curiously. “Eb knew him. He came along for a special job overseas. He was an independent contractor for the government, like us. His specialty was covert assassination, but not with military hardware. He was an expert at disguising poisons as medicine. He was assigned to take out a military strategist, but he did it over a period of days, using different everyday poisons to torment the man before he gave him the final dose. None of us liked the way he worked. He enjoyed killing.”

The brothers looked at each other with sudden inspiration. “What did he look like?” Tank asked.

“Insignificant sort of man,” he replied. “Medium height, nasal drawl. The only thing about him that stood out was his hair. It was a flaming orange color.”

“I can see how that would help him camouflage himself,” Cane said facetiously.

“I always thought he did it to draw attention away from his face,” Carson replied. “His hair was concealed when he went out at night anyway, not much risk of anyone seeing it. He did wet work with knives, as well. He bragged about one job, but when he saw the reaction he was getting from us, he clammed up.” His face hardened. “Anybody who enjoys killing needs help. I did it for ideological reasons, to help save innocents. He did it for fun.”

“This man,” Tank said slowly. “Did he have a nick on one ear?”

Carson blinked. “A what?”

“Did he have a cut on one ear, a scar?”

“I don’t remember. I can’t say I noticed.” He smiled faintly. “I was too occupied with the sight of that flaming mop of hair.”

Tank’s cell phone rang. It was the hospital. In fact, it was the doctor herself, whom he’d given his phone number.

“She is awake,” she told him, “and feeling somewhat better now.”

“I’m on my way,” Tank replied.

“Go,” Mallory said when he hesitated, because they’d come in one ranch vehicle. “Here.” He tossed him the keys. “We’ll get Darby to take us back to the ranch.”

“Okay. Thanks!” He ran for the truck.

“Don’t speed!” Cane called after him. “One tragedy a day is enough!”

“I’ll keep it under a hundred!” Tank called back.

Cane groaned. He’d been in a terrible wreck before he and Bolinda had been married. He took speed very seriously.

“I feel bad that this happened on my watch,” Carson said. “I was careless. I won’t be again.”

“We all slip from time to time,” Mallory assured him.

Two vehicles approached the cabin as Tank drove rapidly away with a wave. It was Sheriff Banks and his investigator.

They greeted the men, asked questions of Clara and started investigating Merissa’s room. It soon became apparent that her window was unlocked and someone had come through it quite recently. There was moisture from melted snow on the sill, and a partial footprint outside the window, among the leaves. A mold was taken of the print.

When the investigator had collected what evidence he could find, and another officer had been sent to the hospital to retrieve the bottle of capsules and enter them into the chain of evidence, Carson and the investigator started backtracking the faint trail through the woods.

Mallory and Cane returned to the ranch to update the wives on what was happening.

* * *

A
T
 
THE
 
HOSPITAL
, Tank sat beside Merissa in the intensive care unit, holding her hand.

“Scared me to death, baby,” he said softly.

She managed a wan smile. “I feel awful.”

“You’re going to be all right,” he said firmly. “Nobody’s coming near you, or touching you again, no matter what I have to do to keep you safe.”

“So sick,” she groaned.

“I’m sure they’re giving you something to make that better.”

“Yes. They said so. How’s Mama?” she asked suddenly. “She was so scared!”

“She’s fine,” he replied. “She came in with us to talk to the doctor.”

“Do you know what happened to me?” she asked.

He turned her hand over and traced the palm. “Someone doctored the capsules you were given for migraine headaches,” he said grimly. “We don’t know how yet, but we’re pretty sure who did it.”

She drew in a shaky breath and fought down the nausea. “Wow. I only took one capsule,” she whispered. “I remember Mama asked me when the ambulance came. I went out like a light pretty soon after that.”

His hand tightened on hers. “Thank God you didn’t take more.”

“What did he put in it?”

“Malathion,” he muttered. “It’s dangerous. Very dangerous. We have to use precautions when we put it out on the ranch. Once we had a guy covered with it. We had to have him decontaminated and we had to call the EMTs. That was an accident. What happened to you wasn’t. The sheriff’s investigator will probably want to talk to you, too.”

“I’ll tell him anything I can.” She looked up at Tank. “I remember that the blinds in my room were sort of crooked. I didn’t think anything about it... I just straightened them before I lay down. My head was throbbing. Oh, and the pills weren’t in my drawer. Why didn’t I say something? I never leave them sitting out...and there was an odd odor to them, but I thought it was the headache making me smell things.”

“Your head was hurting.” He smiled gently. “You gave us a real scare.”

She smiled. “Sorry.”

His expression became grim. “We have to get this guy, before he does something worse.”

“I totally agree. Unfortunately I won’t be able to help you run him down and hog-tie him,” she teased. “The way my doctor talks, I’m going to be here for several days.”

“You’ll be safe here.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” she moaned. “Mama will be all alone.”

“Don’t worry about Clara,” he added before she could speak. “We’ve got people watching her.”

“Okay.”

“Carson offered to let me punch him,” he then told her. “He felt bad that he was out of sight and sound when it happened.”

“He was trying to keep us safe,” she said. “Don’t be mad at him.”

He frowned. “Don’t tell me he’s working that magic on you, too?”

“Excuse me?”

He averted his eyes. He hadn’t thought of Carson as a rival. Now, remembering the man’s way with women, he was stunned. Merissa had been almost his until Carson came back with him. Now, she was backing away. Because of Carson?

He glanced at her. “You and Carson, you’ve been talking, haven’t you?”

She nodded. “He isn’t what he seems,” she said softly. She smiled. “He’s had a very hard life.”

“He told you about it?”

“Yes. He isn’t the sort of man who tells anybody private things, I think. But he told me a lot. I felt really bad for him.”

“I see.”

“So don’t blame him,” she said softly. “I know he feels terrible, like he let me down. But it could have happened anytime. This man seems to know very well how to get to people,” she added quietly. “He’s like a snake. He can get in anywhere, without being noticed.”

“We’ll find him.”

She turned her head on the pillow. “You have to be very careful,” she said. “If you have medicines that you take, check them.”

“I’m way ahead of you there,” he assured her. “But there’s no way anyone could get into my house without being noticed.”

“Don’t assume that,” she said. “It’s what we assumed, too. And here I am.”

He grimaced. “You could have died.”

“Yes. But he miscalculated,” she said. “That will hurt his confidence. It will make him pause and rethink his methods. It will give you an opportunity to find out who he is.” She squeezed his hand. “Dalton, he’s done this before. Not exactly like this, but he’s killed someone. Someone important. That’s your key. That’s what you have to look for...” She swallowed, hard. She let go of his hand. “Sorry. I’m so...sleepy.”

“It’s all right. You rest. I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

He smiled, when he’d never felt less like smiling. “Hey, what are friends for?” he asked her softly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Something flashed there, something odd. But she only smiled back and said, “That’s right.” Then she closed her eyes again.

* * *

H
E
 
LEFT
 
HER
. His mind was working overtime. He wanted to throw Carson through a wall. The man was the devil himself. He remembered Carson charming the beautiful flight attendant, all smooth talk and smiles. It hadn’t mattered about that woman, who was a stranger. But this was Merissa. And Merissa was his.

If only he hadn’t botched it when he’d blurted out that proposal. He’d even had the rings in his pocket. He was going to press them into her hand and ask her right then. That wasn’t really how he’d meant to do it. He wanted to do the whole courtship thing. Send her flowers, buy her presents; take her on moonlight rides. But he’d lost it when he had her so warm and soft in his arms.

She loved kissing him, he could tell that. But she was backing away and just when he wanted to get closer, much closer.

So was it Carson pulling them apart? Was he a rival? And if he was, how could Dalton, who was no rounder, compete with him? The thought tormented him.

* * *

“W
HAT
 
DO
 
YOU
know about Carson?” he asked Rourke later, when they were going over new safety precautions for the ranch.

Rourke lifted both eyebrows. “Not a lot. Why?”

“He told Merissa things.”

“Oh?” Rourke’s one brown eye was twinkling. “What sort of things?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his thick hair. “He’s one smooth operator. He turns on the charm and women fall at his feet.”

“Well, yes, they do. But he’s a one-nighter, if that helps.”

“What do you mean?” Tank asked.

“I mean, he doesn’t date the same woman twice. He has no staying power. In fact, if you want my honest opinion,” he added, “he hates women.”

Tank gave him a disbelieving look.

“No, I’m not joking,” Rourke continued. He finished connecting two wires on a monitor. “He even said something about it once, to the effect that women are no damned good. He said they’ll crawl to a man who treats them like dirt, but turn their backs on one who’d die for them.”

“The reverse of that is often true,” Tank commented.

“I know.”

“I’ve seen him in action, too,” Rourke added. “I can’t say I wasn’t a bit envious. Never had that sort of luck with the ladies.”

“And that’s not what I’ve heard about you,” Tank mused.

Rourke shrugged. “I’m like Carson. I like variety.”

Tank pursed his lips. “I believe you helped Carson feed a man to a crocodile over a woman...?”

Rourke’s face hardened like steel. He averted his eye and didn’t say another word.

“Sorry,” Tank said.

Rourke didn’t look at him. “There are things I never discuss. Tat’s one of them.” He turned his head, and his one good eye was blazing. “K.C. Kantor’s another.”

Tank held up both hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

Rourke shrugged. “Sorry.” He tuned the device he was working on. “I used to have a higher boiling point.”

“We all have weaknesses.” Tank leaned back. “Mine’s lying in a hospital bed, mooning over your damned womanizing comrade.”

Rourke’s eyebrows almost blended into the blond hair at his forehead. “She’s what?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
ANK
 
FELT
 
EMBARRASSED
. He shifted his posture. “He tells her things.”

He chuckled softly. “She’s that sort of woman. It doesn’t mean she’s got eyes for him,” he pointed out.

“Well, I think...”

His cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and answered it. “Kirk.”

“Can you bring Rourke and meet me in the parking lot of the Custom Kitchen?” Carson asked.

“What in hell for? Are you hungry?” Tank asked sarcastically.

“I’ll tell you when you get here.” He hung up.

Tank relayed the message.

“He’s found something and he isn’t willing to talk at the house,” Rourke said grimly.

“Surely he didn’t leave Clara at the house by herself?” Tank asked worriedly.

“I can almost assure you that he’s got her with him. He may be a womanizer, but there isn’t anybody better at the job than he is.”

“He wasn’t there when Merissa was almost poisoned,” Tank pointed out coldly.

“None of us would have expected the SOB to walk into the house and poison her meds,” Rourke retorted. He stopped and frowned. “You said he left tracks?”

“Yes.”

Rourke cocked his head. “Now, isn’t that interesting? He’s sneaky enough to poison prescription meds so that they’re undetectable, and yet he leaves footprints?”

“We need answers.” Tank moved ahead of him to a nearby ranch pickup.

“I think we’re about to get them, too,” Rourke predicted.

* * *

C
LARA
 
WAS
 
WITH
C
ARSON
.
He sent her inside, with a gentle smile, to have coffee while he talked over some things with his colleagues.

Tank was somber and cold. Carson either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was intent on what he and the sheriff’s investigator had uncovered.

“The tracks led to the highway about a mile behind the house,” Carson told them, leaning casually back against the bed of the truck with his arms crossed. “They vanished. We assume a car or another vehicle was parked there. We found a partial tire track in the snow on the side of the road. We couldn’t track any farther on foot, but the sheriff’s department has dogs. They marked the spot with GPS and they’re bringing out bloodhounds in the morning.” He sighed. “But if you want my take on it, they’ll track him to a deserted house or a parking lot, and another dead end.” His black eyes narrowed. “He’s just playing games. That’s all.”

“Games. He almost killed a woman!” Tank exploded.

“To him, it’s just a game,” Carson replied calmly. “Cat and mouse. He’s playing you.”

Tank looked menacing.

Carson’s face softened just a little. “I know what she means to you,” he said quietly. “I’m not downplaying how serious it could have been, if she’d taken more than one of those Malathion-laced capsules. I’m telling you how he feels about it.”

“How do you know so much?” Tank asked.

“Men work in patterns,” he said surprisingly. “I was a math whiz in college,” he added. “Top of my class, in fact. I have a photographic memory, which came in handy when I majored in history as an undergraduate. History, as you may know, is mostly case law. I had in mind being another F. Lee Bailey,” he mused. “But I dropped out of law school just before graduation, due to...personal matters.” He straightened. “What I’m saying is that people have habits that make them predicable, like equations. This man shows a few traits that may help us track him down.”

“Such as?” Tank asked, mellowing.

“He’s a master of disguise. We know that already. He’s single-minded, methodical, careful, and he knows how to tamper with pharmaceuticals without being caught.” He shook his head. “So how is it that this careful, methodical man leaves a trail a kindergarten child could follow?”

Rourke and Tank exchanged glances. “We were just discussing that,” Rourke confessed.

“He’s keeping you off your guard, unbalanced, by placing Merissa and Clara in danger,” Carson continued.

“So?” Tank asked.

“He’s afraid that you’re going to remember something that will hurt him, point him out to the authorities. He’d like to kill you, but he can’t get close enough. So he’s keeping you focused on the women instead of the past.”

“He may have a point,” Rourke said.

“There’s another thing,” Carson continued. “Remember what I said about the man I worked with who was an expert at covert poisonings?”

“I do,” Tank said.

“You met him once, too, I believe,” Carson told Rourke. “The red-haired fellow who was always talking about sharks.”

“Sharks!” Tank straightened.

“What?” Carson asked, diverted.

“Sharks.” He paced, touching his forehead. “Sharks. Why can’t I remember? Someone was talking about a man who mentioned sharks...”

“Carlie,” Carson said quietly. “In Cash Grier’s office.”

“Yes!” Tank turned. “Remember, she said the rogue agent came into Cash’s office and he was talking about sharks and how misunderstood they were. She said he told her he liked to swim with them in the Bahamas!”

“Sharks. Disguise. Poisons. The Bahamas.” Carson’s eyes narrowed. “I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

“Why did you want us to meet you here?” Rourke asked as the other man pulled out his cell phone.

“The man we’re looking for knew that Merissa kept her headache pills in her bedside table, and that she was starting to get a headache. How?”

The men looked at one another.

“I missed a bug. We missed a bug,” Carson told Rourke.

“Impossible!” Rourke said angrily. “I ran the rooms four times, just to make sure!”

“You were out of sight yesterday,” Tank said, “when Merissa took the medicine.”

“Only for thirty minutes.”

“About that time, I was driving Merissa home. Where was Clara?”

“I don’t know, but we can ask,” Rourke said, leading the way into the restaurant. “If she was out of the house at all, that gave him the opportunity to sneak in another bug.”

“How about the capsules?” Tank asked. “That would have taken time. The doctor said it was an almost perfect job of tampering.”

“He knows she has headaches. All he lacked was the opportunity to place the capsules.”

“Why not when he was bugging the place?” Tank wondered.

“I imagine he makes it up as he goes,” Rourke replied quietly. “He plans, but he plans as situations develop. He might have learned about her headaches for the first time after he placed the bugs. The tampering could have taken place over a period of days.”

“Yes.” Rourke paused. “And he might have counted on Merissa’s father to take her out for him, along with her mother.” He glanced at Tank’s hard face. “The man is unbalanced. Brilliant, but unbalanced.”

Clara saw them come in and motioned them to the booth where she was sitting. She smiled. “We could eat while we’re here,” she suggested. “Then, if I could impose on you to drive me by the hospital...?”

Tank said as he slid into the booth, “I’ll go, too.”

“Clara,” Rourke began after they’d ordered barbecue plates, “when Carson was out placing his surveillance units, did you leave the house at all?”

She blinked. “Why, yes, just to run by the drycleaners and leave a comforter. I wasn’t gone five minutes. Why?”

Tank and Rourke exchanged glances. Tank nodded.

“Don’t say anything in the house that you’d mind being overheard,” Rourke told her. “You must be extraordinarily clever. I’m not going to remove the bug he’s just placed. Let him think we’re too dim to realize it’s even there.”

“Bug? I don’t understand,” she began.

Tank explained how they thought the bug was placed, and how the intruder knew where Merissa kept her headache medicine.

“Oh, goodness,” Clara said heavily. “I opened my big mouth. Just like I did, telling them where Bill was, and I got him killed,” she added sadly. “Then there’s that other man. The one Merissa told us about, that she saw in her mind, a man who knew about this intruder and was going to tell on him...”

“You can’t save the world,” Rourke said heavily. He gave her a weary smile. “I know. I’ve been trying.”

She smiled weakly. “I see your point. It’s very hard, though, to know something and not be able to warn anyone.”

“In that case,” Tank told her, “you have to consider that some things just happen the way they’re meant to. We can’t see very far down the road. God can.”

“Okay.”

Carson came back in. He slid into the booth beside Clara. “I’ve put some things in motion,” he said. “There’s been a development back home.”

“What?” Tank asked.

“It seems that Cash Grier managed to track down the man who attacked Carlie’s father with a knife. He turned up in the morgue in San Antonio. He was poisoned.”

“Good grief!” Tank exclaimed. “Merissa told him that there was a man who knew him and was thinking about going to the authorities. He said he knew who it was and he’d take care of him.” He groaned. “It’s going to hit her hard.”

Rourke’s one eye narrowed. “Don’t tell her.”

“The man had a rap sheet seven pages long,” Carson added. “One of his arrests was for rape. He’s no loss to the world.”

“Did he talk to the authorities?” Tank asked. “Do you know?”

“He made a phone call before he died. It was to a police officer in San Antonio. They’re trying to contact the officer to see if a conversation even took place. One more minor detail.”

“Yes?” Tank asked.

“The man was taking a prescription medication for allergies. The capsules were tampered with. Like to take a guess at what sort of poison was in them?” Carson mused.

“Don’t tell me,” Rourke said. “Malathion.”

“Exactly. He had access to it on the ranch, didn’t he?” Carson asked Tank.

“He was in and out of the barn where we keep it, but it’s in a locked shed room,” Tank replied.

“You keep your keys hanging just inside the back door in the house,” Rourke recalled. “Does one of them fit that storeroom?”

Tank’s eyes closed. “She warned me about those keys the first day she came to the house,” he said. “She said, ‘he’ll find them there.’”

“She’s very perceptive,” Clara remarked gently.

“I wish I’d listened!” Tank groaned.

“He’d have found another way,” Carson said. “Anything can be used to poison someone, even common household items.”

“Like hand grenades?” Rourke said, tongue-in-cheek. “I believe El Ladŕon’s convoy was treated to a few of those...?”

“The convoy of El Ladŕon was accidentally blown up by a few equally accidentally tossed hand grenades.” He looked perfectly innocent.

“Nice aim,” Rourke said, grinning.

Carson grinned back. “I get in some practice from time to time.”

Tank started to ask a question when the jukebox, a holdover from the past, started up. The sounds of rock music filled the restaurant.

“Try talking over that,” Carson groaned.

The song was an old hard rock tune by Joan Jett, called “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.” It had a hard, heavy beat and it had been a favorite of the Kirks’ mother when she was still alive. It brought back memories for Tank. He smiled as he listened. And then, quite suddenly, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Clara asked.

He caught his breath. “That song,” he said.

“Yes, it’s loud,” Carson muttered.

“No! The man who was, or who was pretending to be, a DEA agent when I was ambushed,” he said, feeling all over again the impact of the bullets. “I heard that song.”

“The mind plays tricks in dangerous situations,” Rourke began.

“It was that song. But it wasn’t sung. It was...I don’t know...like wind chimes,” he faltered as he tried to recall it.

“Wind chimes?” Carson mused.

Rourke frowned. “My...employer,” he said, hesitating before he gave the relationship, and not the real one at that, “has a very expensive Swiss watch that he customized with a tune he was fond of. It plays the opening bars of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.” He lifted his head. “It sounds like wind chimes. Or chapel chimes that used to come out of the steeples at churches.”

Tank sat very still. He closed his eyes, trying, trying to remember the man. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “When I picture him, all I can see is that damned gaudy paisley shirt he was wearing.” He opened his eyes. “But I know I heard chimes. It could have been a watch. I’m not sure he was wearing it. Judging by his suit, he couldn’t have afforded an expensive Swiss watch with customized music,” he added. “His suit was strictly off the rack.”

Carson pulled out his cell phone and opened an internet browser.

“What?” Tank asked.

“It’s a long shot,” he said. “But I’m curious about that tune. It rings a bell somewhere in the back of my mind.”

He tapped in a search string and waited. Then he thumbed through the results, which seemed to go on forever. Finally he paused, tapped the screen and his face grew even more grim.

“Several months ago,” he said, looking up, “about the time Hayes Carson made his bust and you got ambushed, a district attorney was murdered in San Antonio.”

“And?” Tank asked.

“They think it was a theft because of what was stolen. His wife was wealthy. He was wearing a very expensive Swiss watch. They said it had a musical alarm, but not what the tune was. It was never found.”

Tank’s dark eyes twinkled. “A break. Maybe.”

Carson nodded. He was still pulling up websites. He frowned. “There’s a photograph of the prosecutor who was killed. I want you to look at this.” He handed his iPhone to Tank, who took it and his face paled.

“What?” Rourke asked when he saw Tank’s expression.

“The damned shirt. The damned paisley shirt.” He drew in a long breath. “That looks like the shirt the so-called federal agent was wearing.”

“Can you find out if the shirt went missing?” Rourke asked Carson.

“Let me find out for you. I know a homicide detective with San Antonio P.D.,” Rourke said. He pulled out his own phone and put in a call to Lieutenant of Detectives Rick Marquez.

* * *

“R
OURKE
,” R
ICK
M
ARQUEZ
 
stated when he heard the South African accent.