Her father. She hadn’t wanted to consider him involved in this, but he very well could be. Fourteen years ago, he’d been obsessed with finding the Spider Rock treasure. The entire family had suffered when he either spent household money to purchase treasure-digging tools or gambled it away. He and Brandt were partners back then, both men determined to get rich by finding the buried cache of sixty-four million dollars in gold on their dirt-poor ranch. But as much as she detested her father and what he’d done, would he resort to murder? She took in the surroundings, keeping her emotions deep inside. Of course he would.
If she had cell phone access, she’d have called Pete at Houston FIG to request a full report on Stanton Warick. Bella rubbed her finger across her forehead. She’d see if a text to Pete would go through and at least get him started on the process. Three men dead, all looking for the Spider Rock treasure. Brandt Richardson was wanted for murder-for-hire. Carr Sullivan had a record of violence and evidence against him, and her own father could be knee-deep in the whole mess.
Chapter 7
Carr sensed his anger festering like a boil. Special Agent Bella Jordan believed he’d killed those men, and no matter what he did or said, she continued on the same dead-end road. Bad pun. His stomach churned with what the future might hold. The charges. A trial. The weeks and months of waiting. He eased the truck into reverse, turned around, and drove through the pasture back toward the house. Three hours in the blazing sun while she talked to deputies and snapped pictures. When she wasn’t speaking into her little handheld recorder, she made notes.
Bella looked at him with a half smile, as if he were nothing more than a cockroach. What happened to a man being innocent until proven guilty?
“I want to know why you think I’m guilty.” He stopped the truck and hung his left arm over the steering wheel. Angus grazed peacefully on both sides. Two mares and their foals added to a picturesque memento of how he’d viewed his life until Monday.
She tossed him a curious look. “Who said I did?”
“You. Every word spoken or unspoken. I read people well enough to tell when hostility rules the moment. Is this another rung in your ladder toward a fat FBI promotion?”
She winced for a fraction of a second, and he caught it.
“Be careful, lady; your fangs are showing.”
Anger peaked in her green eyes. “I resent your unfounded accusations.”
“And I resent your assumption that I murdered those men.” His voice had risen with each word. “Seems to me you’re looking for ways to pin this on me instead of looking for evidence leading to the real murderer.”
“I really don’t care what you think. I have a job to do.”
“I bet the sooner you get back to your air-conditioned office in Houston, the sooner you’ll be sitting in a new office.” He looked away. Losing his temper didn’t prove a thing but his lack of control—and lack of control was what killed three men. His outburst would do nothing but move him higher on her list of suspects. He took a deep breath and then another. Putting his truck into drive, he drove on.
Once at the house, he saw Darren had not returned. Two deputies lingered with Vic on
his
back porch drinking
his
bottled water. Carr exited his truck and made deliberate steps to the back door, forcing himself to greet the three men. Anger jutted from the pores of his skin like barbed wire. He paid taxes and obeyed the law. He followed Christ and studied His Word. What more could he do?
Swinging open the door, he ushered Bella inside like a proper gentleman. But his thoughts were not conducive to attributes of a godly man.
Lydia met them in the kitchen. She blinked but said nothing about his apparent dissatisfaction with what had transpired. “Sheriff Adams said he’d be back around four.”
Not soon enough, in his opinion. “I’ll be upstairs.”
“I have more questions for you,” Bella said.
“I’ll be upstairs.”
Silence drummed on between them.
“I’m being a jerk,” he said. “Sorry.”
“I’ve been known to have better people skills.” She blew out a sigh. “I’m sure there are more bags of trash for me to sort through. There’s an outhouse behind the barn that better fits my attitude.”
He lifted a brow. Comic relief he could use. “And what would you find?”
“More of the same. I’m sure.”
“Excuse me?” Lydia’s voice seldom took a high note, but it rang with a tone of authority. “Are you two squabbling or trying to get along?”
“We’re attempting civility.” Bella took the bottle of water that Lydia offered. “Neither of us has any answers. If we did, the killer would be in custody.”
“I’m innocent. How do I prove that to you?” The bickering had to stop. Hurling words at Bella made him look immature . . . and guilty. Again he took another deep breath and asked God—no, begged Him—to muzzle his mouth. This time he began with control. “I apologize for my lack of manners. This whole thing has me upset, out of focus.”
“Perhaps if I’d ever been in your situation, I’d understand.” She crossed her arms over her chest, then unfolded them.
Carr desperately wanted to show her he wasn’t a killer-psycho, but how? “I want to cooperate, not alienate the investigators. Seems like I left my faith and my ethics in the barn.” What was she thinking? Had he dug himself in so deep that she could arrest him?
“You know, the Spider Rock treasure is cursed.” Lydia’s voice broke the awkwardness while he waited for Bella to comment. She stood between them, first eyeing Carr, then Bella. “Those men may have been murdered, but the curse of the treasure makes this tragedy no surprise.”
Bella slowly nodded. “Knowing more about the treasure—the legends, the history, and those involved—might provide the motivation for the murderer.”
“You’re a smart lady, Agent Jordan.” Lydia turned toward the hall leading to her and Jasper’s room. “Now, if you two could discuss your differences instead of fussing like two children, this investigation might go a lot smoother.”
Carr felt like he’d been disciplined by one of the sisters in parochial school, who had tried unsuccessfully to make him take his life and God seriously.
Lydia started down the hall, then whirled around. “And Carr did not shoot those men. The sooner you accept that fact, the better we’ll all get along.”
He hoped the stoic look on Bella’s face wasn’t the makings of an arrest. She could claim he interfered with the investigation or was hostile or who knew what else.
Finally she met his gaze. “Lydia makes sense.”
“About my innocence?”
“About researching the Spider Rock treasure.”
“The kind that leads to men getting killed?” Carr studied her—poised, a trained professional, type A personality. He didn’t like her, but he didn’t dislike her either. “I don’t know a thing about the Spider Rock legend.”
Bella uncapped her bottle of water. “I have a little knowledge. Looks like I need to acquire a lot more. Right now, I’m checking with the deputies who sorted through the trash.”
Silence weighed in heavily, and she wore the boxing gloves.
He took in a gulp of air. “Can I help?”
* * *
Bella walked outside into the heat, which reminded her of what she’d left inside Carr’s house. So many questions and so few answers. Aunt Debbie had told her that God had led her to this assignment, and the dear woman’s voice echoed around her.
Learn more about the Spider Rock treasure?
Memories slowly crept to the surface, despite the fact that she’d shoved them to the empty corner of her heart, then locked the door and hidden the key.
She took a breath to calm herself and studied the ranch house. The two-story beauty rose up and sprawled out to well over six thousand square feet. If the circumstances were better, she’d have asked for a tour. Exquisite, but inviting. What she’d seen in the stone kitchen and the outdoor patio and summer kitchen said much for a man who liked to entertain, but Carr had chosen the life of a hermit. Well, until recently, when he decided to venture into the business of offering a home to at-risk boys.
The beauty of the perfectly landscaped surroundings, including the flowers and shrubbery on a timed sprinkler system, reminded her of one of her aunt’s
Southern Living
magazines—even though she lived in Pennsylvania. Everything at the High Butte had been planned, right down to the Mexican heather with its tiny purple flowers, the rosebushes kissing the sun, and the bunches of pink and white impatiens within the shade of centuries-old oaks. In the rear, she’d noted a pool butted up against a rock waterfall. The rushing water pouring into deep blue depths gave the feeling of peacefulness—even if peace had exploded into turmoil two days earlier.
Oh, to have grown up in an architectural masterpiece such as this. Her thoughts turned to where she’d been reared amid the dirt and weeds. At least that had been home until she was fifteen. Her father had been in her thoughts since she’d flown into Abilene. And finding the size-twelve footprints had added layers of regret. When she was much younger, he’d slapped a huge photo of the Spider Rock map on his bedroom wall. Blown up in huge proportions like a shrine—the altar that ruled his every decision, even his heart.
A different shift of deputies arrived at three, and around four, Sheriff Adams returned and continued to work. Shortly after seven, she and Vic decided to call it a day. Bella wiped the perspiration trickling down her face and tossed her gloves in the trash. There were plenty more where those came from.
After informing Darren that she and Vic were ready to head to Ballinger for her car, he introduced them to Deputy Roano, who’d be their transportation to town. Bella made a point of telling Lydia, Jasper, and Carr good night, if for no other reason than to have closure for the unpleasantness of the day. Sliding into the air-conditioned comfort of the deputy’s car, Bella allowed her mind to dwell on what had happened during the last nine hours. The various pieces of paper found in the trash appeared meaningless, but she and Vic would follow up on those tomorrow. The thought of asking for assistance from the field office either in Houston or Dallas crossed her mind, but she refused to call for additional resources on the first day.
Perhaps tomorrow she’d have a report on the bullets lodged in her tire. The candy wrapper had led to the boot prints, which seemed to be the only substantial find. The print size affected her more than she cared to admit. Brandt Richardson and Stanton Warick were the two men who had caused her to run from this area in the first place.
Brandt Richardson.
Her nemesis had frightened her long enough, and she would not stop until he was behind bars.
“Are you planning to return to the ranch tomorrow?” Deputy Roano said. The young man looked like he’d just graduated from the police academy.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I hope a shooter doesn’t decide to use me for target practice again.”
“Ma’am, I know you’re FBI and all that, but you and Special Agent Anderson need to be careful. The long stretches of road out here can be dangerous, especially if someone’s after you.”
Conscientious man to offer them a warning. “We’ll be careful. Right, Vic?”
“After twenty-two years, I’ve learned a thing or two. But thanks for the warning. You have the advantage of knowing the area.”
Roano nodded and they passed pleasantries between them. He didn’t ask about the case, which she found odd. Neither did he inquire about the FBI—refreshing, because she didn’t have enough words floating around in her mind to respond intelligently. Neither did she want to burden Vic by having him answer all of the questions. Food and crawling into bed zoomed to the top of her priority list.
After picking up her car, her confidence resumed, mostly because she had her own wheels again and didn’t have to depend on a deputy or Carr Sullivan.
“What do you think?” she said to Vic once they were on the road.
“Something’s not right about Sullivan. I think he killed those men.”
“What about his plans to open a home for at-risk boys?”
“Ever been around an abortion clinic after a bombing? Those nutcases believe God wanted the clinic destroyed.”
Bella understood Vic’s reasoning, but she didn’t quite agree. Of course, she hadn’t revealed that Brandt wore a size-twelve shoe, and she had no idea if he had a favorite candy bar. “Well, we don’t have enough evidence to arrest Sullivan yet.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” He lowered the temp on the air-conditioning. “Hope you don’t mind. I can’t seem to get cooled off.”
“No problem. What do you think of Sheriff Adams?”
“Despite his friendship with Sullivan, he’s followed the law. After all, he ran fingerprints and contacted us with the possibility of Richardson’s involvement.”
Bella agreed, but she couldn’t help but believe something was missing, something they’d overlooked. “He had his deputies hard at work in the hot sun.”
“Want to have dinner together?”
Vic was a nice guy, and she’d like to hear about his years in violent crime, but she wanted to be alone. “No thanks. I’m bushed and still have work to do.”
“Sure. What time do you want to get started in the morning?”
“Early. I’d like to leave Abilene around seven.”
“I have an audio conference at eight, so I’ll drive myself when it’s over.”
“Okay. I know you said the interviews with Lydia and Jasper cleared them, but did you pick up on anything else?”
“Not a thing. We’ll both stay on it.”
Bella dropped him off at the hotel parking lot, then swung back into the street toward a chain restaurant and ordered carry-out grilled salmon. The tempting smell in the car drove her to distraction. Then her stomach growled to make matters worse.
At the hotel, she greeted the front desk on the way to her room. She slid the magnetic card into the door and eased inside. The soft hum of the air conditioner greeted her, and if not for the need to check e-mail and think through the day, she’d take her dinner to bed. Snapping on the lamp light, she relaxed in a soft chair and propped her feet on a matching ottoman.
After taking a couple of bites of the tender salmon and buttering a warm roll, she plugged in her computer, quickly got online, and responded to her work e-mail. After a few more bites, she checked her personal e-mail. A message from Aunt Debbie grabbed her attention.
Hi, Bella,
By now you’ve been on the job for a day, so I’m wondering how you’re holding up. Oh, I know you’re a top-notch special agent and all that, but my concern is the scene of the crime. West Texas, for heaven’s sake. I’d rather you were in the Middle East. Keep your eyes open, one eye over your shoulder, and your weapon close by.
How very strange that we carefully hid our addresses so they couldn’t find you, and now you’ve returned to another crime scene.
Now for the mundane things here in Pennsylvania. The church plans two sessions of vacation Bible school. They asked me to be a teacher or an aide, but I had to refuse. I’d lose my mind with all of those little kids. About the first time a hyper little boy got the best of me, I’d be asking him if he was ready to meet Jesus. I’ll bake cookies and deliver them at night.