Revenge (64 page)

His smile was cold. “Don't you?”

“No, you were married once and—”

“Once is enough. I'll never go through that again.”

“You loved your wife!”

“And look what happened,” he said as he walked across the room and threw open the door. “Now, are you going to go quietly?” he asked, his voice steely with determination, “or am I going to have to wake up the whole damned house?”

S
loan was gone. Casey didn't have to ask anyone; she could just tell by the feel of the house. With a sinking sensation, she knocked on the door of Jenner's old room and, when there was no response, opened the door a crack. The bed was made and the room was cold.

She forced herself through the shower and paid more attention to her makeup than usual, hoping to hide the dark circles under her eyes—the result of another sleepless night. “Fool,” she told her reflection as she thought about her confrontation with him. She should never have gone into his room uninvited, never kissed him, never played the part of a seductress.

Her cheeks burned at the memory. What was it about Sloan that brought out the worst in her? Without an answer, she dressed and dragged herself into the kitchen, where she found Jenner and Max seated at the table, arguing as they had since they were kids.

“I say we beat the living daylights out of him and find out what he knows!” Jenner asserted.

“We have to wait and see. Hammond might have some ideas.”

“Hammond Polk? Are you out of your mind? He's the poorest excuse for a sheriff I've ever seen—” Jenner looked up, saw Casey and fell silent.

“What's going on?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee and leaning a hip against the counter. The men exchanged glances. “Where're Mom and Grandma?”

“Both getting ready for a meeting with Rex Stone,” Jenner said, shaking his head. He'd never trusted the detective and hadn't bothered hiding the fact from anyone, including Rex himself. “Then they're gonna talk to the florist and the caterer about the wedding. They're meeting Skye around noon.”

The wedding. She'd nearly forgotten.

“What about Kiki?” she asked, suddenly realizing that the cook wasn't around. The kitchen seemed foreign without the staccato tap of her footsteps or the smell of baking bread or the gentle noise of her radio tuned in to a talk show or a country-and-western station.

“Car trouble—nothing serious. She's down at the garage having it worked on and she'll be here a little later. So you can cook breakfast yourself or settle for cornflakes.” Max winked at her.

Casey wasn't hungry for either. “So what were you talking about when I came into the room?” Jenner rubbed his jaw and Max avoided her eyes. “Come on, guys, give it up. I'll find out soon enough.”

Max scowled, but glanced at Jenner, then turned his attention to his sister. “Okay, it's really nothing—at least not yet. But last night, Randy Calhoun and Slim Purcell got into it down at the Black Anvil. They'd both been drinking quite a bit and they never have liked each other much. Randy started insulting Purcell, and Slim took the first swing, which was just what Randy wanted. They started really going at it and Randy ended up with a busted nose. Slim lost a few teeth.”

“So?” Fistfights at the Black Anvil weren't uncommon.

Jenner picked up the story. “It turns out that before they started swinging and were just in the insulting stage, Randy accused Slim of being involved in your kidnapping.”

Casey's insides froze. Slim Purcell? She hardly knew the man.

“Jake, who was tending bar at the time, told the guys to take the fight outside, then called the sheriff. Hammond hauled both men to the jail, and now he and Revere are talking to both of them—trying to sort truth from fiction.”

The muscles at the base of Casey's skull knotted, bringing on a headache. “I'm surprised you two aren't beating down the door of the jail.”

Max winked at her. “We tried and were politely told to wait until the proper authorities had handled the interrogation their way.”

“It's a bunch of crap,” Jenner muttered under his breath.

“What about Sloan?” she asked, glancing through the window to the empty space where Sloan's truck had been parked. Thick ruts in the snow reaffirmed what she already knew—that he was gone. Her heart gave a little lurch, but she managed an indifferent smile.

Jenner stared at her long and hard. “What about him?”

“I thought part of his bargain with you was that he find the culprit. Looks like he took off.”

“He's already down there, but I don't think they'll let him in on the interview,” Max said. “The one who's really fit to be tied is old Rex Stone. He's not happy that Redhawk's around, anyway, tried to talk Mom and Grandma into firing him.”

Jenner grinned. “Then Redhawk had the gall to show up with you, and Stone, who hasn't found out diddly-squat, had to eat crow. Mom straightened him out and told him that he was hired to find out who killed Dad. Period.”

Casey smiled. “I bet that went over well.”

“About as well as the proverbial lead balloon,” Max agreed as he held up his cup, waiting for a refill.

Casey, shooting him an I'm-not-your-slave glance, grabbed the coffeepot and poured a thin stream of coffee into Max's empty mug. Truth to tell, she was glad to be back on the ranch with her brothers, relieved to be in familiar surroundings. She felt safe here, even if there was a maniac on the loose. The Rocking M was a haven, though oftentimes while growing up, she'd viewed it as a gilded prison. But she wished Sloan hadn't left. “He'll be back then?”

“Who? Sloan?” Max asked.

Jenner's eyes slitted. “You two get into some kind of a row?”

Casey shrugged. “We never see eye to eye. Why?”

“'Cause he was on the warpath this morning. About as friendly as a hungry bear. Nearly snapped my head off when I mentioned your name.” He drained his cup. “He's usually quiet and calm, but he sure had a bee in his shorts this morning.”

“Maybe he didn't sleep well.”

One side of Jenner's mouth lifted, but no humor sparked in his eyes. “Funny. That's exactly what he said.” Eyeing his sister thoughtfully, he finally answered her question. “Yeah, he'll be back. He won't leave until he's done what he's being paid to do.”

She felt a jab of pain at the reminder that Sloan was only staying with her because of the reward money, but she didn't even flinch and wished Jenner would stop staring at her as if he was trying to figure out an intricate puzzle.

Max finished his coffee and pushed his chair from the table. “Duty calls,” he said as he left his mug in the sink. “I'll be at the office if you need me. Looks like the insurance company is finally coming through. As soon as the weather breaks, we'll be able to start construction on the stables.”

“Good. Well, I guess I'll stick around here for a while.” Jenner checked his watch. “I told Beth I'd meet her for lunch before I had to go back to the torture chamber again.”

“Physical therapy isn't torture,” Casey reminded him.

“Remind me of that when I get back.” Again, Max and Jenner exchanged glances. “I'll check on the stock,” Jenner said, but Casey read the silent messages between her brothers.

“You're staying here for me, aren't you?”

Jenner didn't answer, but Max reached for his hat. “We're just being careful. With Dad gone, there's no man around—”

“That's what this is all about? A man?” She could hardly believe her ears. “This is the nineties, Max. I don't need some man to—”

“It's not just you,” Jenner reminded her. “There's Mom and Mavis—”

“Oh, for God's sake, I—we—don't need a baby-sitter!” she snapped. “This is the Rocking M, for crying out loud! If we're not safe here, we're not safe anywhere.”

“Exactly!”

“You're crazy, Jenner. Always have been, always will be.”

Max reached for his leather jacket on a hook by the back door, then said, “Look, Casey, after what happened—”

“I don't care what happened. Okay, I was stupid to get into the truck with Barry, but I didn't have much choice, did I? No one's going to be crazy enough to come to the ranch and—”

Max slid his arms through the jacket. “Someone already did. They burned the stables, remember?”

“But I can't live my life like some frightened little mouse,” she protested. “You've hired extra security guards for the ranch.” She pinned her older brother with a furious stare. “Aren't they enough?”

Max's jaw turned to granite. “I wish I knew.”

“I'm not going to be treated like some glass doll that could break at any given moment and I won't let you two bully me into staying here like a recluse or some kind of prisoner—”

“You're not a prisoner, Casey! If you want to go into town, you can go. But just wait for Sloan and he'll take you,” Jenner said.

“So now he's my baby-sitter.”

“Bodyguard.”

“I don't need one.”

Jenner flew out of his chair, but nearly stumbled as he reeled toward her and only caught himself by bracing a hand against the refrigerator. “Don't forget what happened to you,” he growled. “Weren't you scared out of your mind?”

She didn't answer. Her throat was suddenly as dry as sand.

“And, am I wrong, or did someone try to shoot you?”

“But—”

Jenner's face was livid, his eyes flashing fire. “This isn't a game, Casey. Some bastard's playing for keeps. So, for now, you stay close to home, with someone—preferably Sloan—nearby.”

“You're as paranoid as he is,” she accused.

“I don't think so.”

“Jenner, hey, slow down a little,” Max, ever the voice of reason, said. “Come on, Casey, just go along with us for a little while, okay?”

Jenner snagged his cane and, with a harsh glance over his shoulder, announced that he was going to the barns to check on the brood mares.

Max placed a comforting hand on Casey's shoulder. “Maybe this fight at the Black Anvil was the break we needed. At least maybe now we'll know who the enemy is. Just trust us. Stick with Sloan.”

 

Sloan glanced up from his uncomfortable seat in the reception area of the sheriffs office. He'd been there for hours and had heard the noon whistle in town blast just twenty minutes earlier. Alone in the small room with the cracked linoleum floor and yellowed woodwork, he could see through a glassed-in counter to a larger room partitioned into offices. One deputy sat at his desk, phone headset cradled against his shoulder, and at another, a secretary was busily typing into a computer terminal. Over the rapid clicking of the keys, the sound of piped-in music floated through air that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and disinfectant.

Hammond Polk, sweating profusely and mopping his forehead, finally emerged from behind the closed door to his office. “Thought you might be here,” he said as he spied Sloan sitting in a chair, leafing through a two-year-old copy of a fly fishing magazine. Opening the gate through the counter, he shook his head. “Another dead end.”

“Is that right?” Sloan sounded skeptical.

“Yep. What we got in there—” he hooked a thumb toward the interrogation room “—is just a couple of busted-up locals who had a little too much to drink. Neither one of 'em knows anything about the kidnapping,” the sheriff assured him.

“Then there's no reason I can't talk to them.” Stretching his full height out of his chair, Sloan looked down at the shorter man.

“Later. Right now I have to sort out who did what to whom and who's gonna press charges.”

“Why would Calhoun accuse Purcell of being involved in Casey McKee's abduction?”

“Who knows? Drunks say lots of things, most of which don't make much sense. Calhoun's been a suspect since day one, so he's probably trying to put the heat on someone else. As for Purcell, well, that whole family's crazy. Old Otis, Slim's dad, is still raisin' wolf pups even though years ago one bit his daughter and made a helluva mess of her face. She just got it fixed a few weeks ago—some plastic surgeon recommended by Skye Donahue—well, anyway, that's neither here nor there, I suppose. Back to the boys, believe me, if either of their stories changes, I'll let you know.”

Hammond clapped him on the shoulder as he held open the door. Sloan left but not before he decided that he'd find a way to speak with both Purcell and Calhoun before the day was out.

He spent the day downtown, eating lunch at the Shady Grove Café, listening to the local gossip, drinking coffee and talking with a few men who'd seen the fight firsthand. He checked out Steve Jansen's operation again and wondered if he should go so far as to break into the office to get a closer look at the books, perhaps a second set not meant for public inspection—not just those subpoenaed by the D.A.—and see for himself if there had been any bodywork done to a black or dark blue pickup, the one that had forced Jonah McKee's Jeep over the edge of the canyon.

Steve Jansen's was the only auto-body shop in town and he was related to Barry White. After all, Steve, though he protested his innocence and swore he had nothing to do with the kidnapping, owned the cabin where Casey had been held.

According to Hammond Polk and the FBI, Steve was a suspect, but came out clean. His books had been gone through with a fine-tooth comb and his phone records studied. His story that Barry had a key to the cabin and used it at his leisure, usually during hunting season, seemed to hold water.

But Sloan wasn't convinced. Steve's name cropped up too often to be just a coincidence. It wouldn't help to talk to Steve; his story was down pat. But what about Jimmy Rickert? Maybe it was time to talk to him again.

He had to do something and soon. Time was running out and he needed to get away from this mess and away from Casey. He was still waiting to hear from a couple of boot companies, but hadn't seen the lanky stranger whom he suspected was part of the conspiracy. He had to move fast before he became even more entangled in a relationship with Casey. She'd almost been his undoing last night. He remembered the scent of her perfume, the warmth of her skin, the sweet taste of her lips...oh, hell, he couldn't think like this! It was getting in his way.