Revenge (69 page)

Sloan bit his lip and thought. Steve Jansen didn't have much motive, but his half brother was Barry White. Most of Steve's dealings with the McKees were through his father and Ned had a helluva motive. He'd lost a copper mine that was supposed to have been worthless. Then Jonah took over and discovered plenty of ore, proving that the original geological survey was falsified. Now that could make a man angry—but angry enough to kill? And after Jonah was dead, why keep harassing the McKees?

Unless there was another reason.

A deeper reason for hatred. But what? What would cause someone to want to hurt not only a man, but his family, as well?

The door of the Black Anvil opened again and Sloan felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. Jimmy Rickert stopped, belched, fumbled in his pocket for his keys and found his way to his beat-up, four-wheel-drive rig. He drove out of the parking lot and Sloan slipped his truck into gear. Jimmy didn't know it, but he was going to have a surprise visitor when he got home.

 

Casey eyed the sheriff who looked like a beaten man. In all his years as keeper of the peace, Hammond Polk had never left a case unsolved—until now. And he was fit to be tied from the looks of him. He surveyed the mess in the hall for the fourth time and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Virginia. Frustrated, he'd questioned everyone in the family, determined to discover where the attacker had been standing when he'd hurled the rock through the window.

Even Rex Stone had made his way to the ranch, where he'd somewhat defensively admitted to everyone that he'd never met Clarisse James. He'd intended to pay her a visit, but had never gotten around to it because Casey had been so adamant about her friend's innocence. Obviously someone had impersonated him, but he couldn't guess who. He was given a description of the man in hopes that he would remember handing him a business card, but Rex, looking foolish, had shaken his head.

“Anyone can get one of my cards. Even when I'm not in the office, they're in a little holder on my receptionist's desk. I'll ask her in the morning, of course, but I can't imagine who the guy is.”

Max scowled at the rotund investigator and Casey could read his thoughts. Though Virginia believed that Rex Stone would eventually find Jonah's killer, none of her children had any faith in the slick private detective. He'd had plenty of time, come up with a list of suspects that could be connected to the crime but had found nothing concrete. “Don't just check with your receptionist,” Max advised. “Find the bastard.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“You tell me. You're the private detective.”

Rex left the house muttering under his breath. Hammond Polk once again shook his head at the mess. “We'll find the perpetrator, Virginia. Don't you worry.” But he didn't sound his usual confident self.

Mavis stomped her cane against the floor. “Well, you'd better do it fast, Hammond. 'Cause next time it might not just be a rock—maybe one of them firebombs or dynamite or heaven-only-knows what else!”

“We're trying, Mavis.”

“Then try harder. I haven't voted for you for the last three terms just to hear that you try. Do something.”

Casey couldn't help but smile. In true McKee fashion, Mavis believed that by simply demanding results she would get them.

Hammond finally left, and Virginia, after downing aspirin, headed back to bed. Mavis, despite Max's urging to try to get some rest, stayed up with them. “If I were younger, I'd take off after the culprits myself.”

“God help us,” Max growled.

“That's not all. When I found 'em, I'd wring all their scrawny necks!”

“Barry White's neck isn't scrawny,” Casey said, remembering her captor and shivering.

“I already told you what I'd do to that one. String him up by his private parts, that's what. Now, anyone else for a cup of hot cocoa?”

“No thanks, Grandma,” Casey said, tagging after the older woman as she headed to the kitchen. Casey's stomach was already in knots with worry for Sloan and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep anything down.

While Mavis heated milk, Casey grabbed the broom from the pantry and began sweeping up the chunks of glass in the hallway. Max secured the house again and decided he'd spend the rest of the night at the ranch or stay until Sloan returned.

Where was he?
Casey wondered. She'd been relieved when he'd called, but now, as the minutes passed with no word from him, she was beginning to worry all over again.

 

Jimmy Rickert lived in a rented shack on an old, bone-dry piece of ground just outside of town. Sloan, parked on a side street, watched the snitch weave drunkenly up the steps and let himself in the front door. He slammed it shut and snapped off the porch light.

“Don't you know there's no rest for the wicked, Jimmy?” Sloan asked softly as he walked through the trampled snow leading to the porch and leaned on the bell.

The porch light, a single yellow bulb, lighted up again. “What the hell?” Jimmy said, opening the door in his stocking feet.

“I think we need to talk.”

“No way. I'm beat.” He tried to push the door shut, but Sloan was too quick and moved through the crack into a parlor with stained walls and bare floors. “Hey! Whaddya think you're doin'?”

“I'll ask the questions.”

“Get out.”

“Not yet.”

“I'll call the police.”

Sloan grinned. “Do that,” he said. “I think they'd like to hear what you have to say.”

“I'm not sayin' nothin'.”

Sloan heard a door open behind him and looked over his shoulder to see a thin woman with mousy brown hair and pale skin standing in the doorway to a bedroom. A threadbare chenille robe was wrapped around her body and her feet were bare.

“Hey, you, Maryellen. G‘wan back to bed!” Jimmy slurred, waving a finger at her. “He's leavin'.”

“Maybe she wants to hear what I have to say.”

Jimmy leaned against the wall and crossed bony arms over his chest. “She don't do nothing I don't tell her to do.”

“Then she's not interested in twenty-five thousand dollars?”

Jimmy's eyes slitted and the woman didn't move. “That's the reward for information about Jonah McKee's killer.”

“I know it,” Jimmy said, nodding his head nervously. “So what?”

“I think you could probably collect.”

“If I knew who the killer was, don't you think I would've claimed the money before now?”

“Not if you were too scared.”

Jimmy sneered. “I ain't scared of nothin'!”

This was where Sloan gambled. He sauntered up to Jimmy and towered over the smaller man. “Not even Barry White?”

Jimmy made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “He's nothin' to me.”

“He's escaped you know. Drove a police cruiser into the river, and guess what—they can't find his body.” Jimmy's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. “So?”

“He probably knows that you told the police about the argument you overhead in the parking lot on the night Jonah was killed.”

“Don't bother me.”

“Maybe it should. 'Cause even if you're not afraid of Barry, you know that his partner's trouble, don't you?”

“Don't know who he is.”

“I think you do.” Sloan slid a glance in Maryellen's direction and the woman licked her pale lips nervously. “All you have to do is name him and you've got twenty-five grand and probable immunity from prosecution.”

“I ain't done nothin' wrong!” Jimmy protested.

“It's against the law to withhold evidence. A man...or a woman could end up spending a good amount of time in jail.”

Maryellen let out a soft moan.

“Quiet!” Jimmy ordered.

“But the baby,” she said, touching her slightly rounded abdomen. “Jimmy, we got to think of the baby.”

“Quiet, I said!” Jimmy's face was flushed, his eyes wild. “We don't know nothin', y'hear. Nothin'!”

“You got a kid on the way, Jimmy?” Sloan asked as Jimmy reached into the pocket of his T-shirt for a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“What of it?”

“Won't help him to have his pa in jail.”

“I'm not in jail.”

“Not yet. But you will be.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Hammond Polk's unhappy. He's up for reelection in a year or so and he wants to solve this case and look good to the voters. Best way to do that is to find Jonah's killer and lock him behind bars.”

“Jimmy—”

“Shut up!” he yelled, striking a match then sucking in a deep lungful of smoke.

“Think about it, Jimmy. What have you got to offer her or your kid? You want him to have the same miserable existence you had?”

“It weren't so bad.”

“No? Well, with the reward you could start over, maybe look into buying a place of your own.”

“Listen to him,” Maryellen said, suddenly lifting her chin.

Sloan decided to gamble. “Besides, it's just a matter of time before we get the goods on Jansen—then it'll all be over and you'll be out the money.”

Maryellen gasped.

“How did you know—wait a minute.” Jimmy's cigarette bobbed up and down in the corner of his mouth and smoke drifted from his nostrils.

“He hired a man to kill us, the cowboy with the boots who impersonated Rex Stone in Seattle. The law's on to him—it'll just be a matter of days before he's hauled in and implicates Jansen.”

“Jimmy...” Maryellen pleaded.

“Son of a bitch,” Jimmy said, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. “Son of a goddamned bitch.” He smoothed back his thinning hair, looked at the woman carrying his child and sighed. “All right, Redhawk. Let's you and me make a deal with the sheriff,” he said, studying the tip of his cigarette. “I get to walk free and collect the reward in exchange for my testimony against Ned Jansen.”

D
awn was breaking when the telephone jangled. Casey nearly jumped out of her chair, but Max reached over his head, picked up the receiver and said, “Rocking M.” Was it Sloan? Clutching her cup of coffee in a death grip, Casey was seated at the table with her mother, grandmother and Kiki. Barely daring to breathe, she watched as Max shook his head. “Ned Jansen? You're sure?” A pause. “Hell, that's been over thirty-five years.”

The women exchanged glances. Ned was behind the attack? Casey's mother nearly dropped her cup,

“Yeah, well, Jimmy Rickert would say just about anything to get his hands on twenty-five grand.” There was a pause while Max listened intently to the conversation. He propped a boot on the rungs of his mother's chair and swore under his breath. “Okay, okay. We'll wait. Yeah, we're all here.” He hung up and his eyes were dark. “Ned Jansen's been arrested. He hasn't confessed to anything yet and wants an attorney. Guess which one.”

“Reggie Camp,” Casey said, remembering the name of the man who was representing Barry White.

“One and the same.”

“Oh, Lord,” Virginia whispered.

“Why would Ned kill Dad or burn the stables or—” Casey caught the warning look in her brother's eyes, and when she glanced at her mother she swallowed hard. Tears filled Virginia's eyes. “Mom?”

“This is because of me,” Virginia replied shakily. “Not your father.”

“I don't understand—”

“Oh, piffle!” Mavis muttered. “You can't believe that! Just because years ago you were dating Ned when you met Jonah.”

“It was more than dating him. I ... we... well, Ned and I had talked about getting married.”

“Mom, it's been so long ago. This couldn't possibly have anything to do with you. Think about it. If he'd wanted some kind of revenge, why would he wait so long?”

“I think...” She hesitated and bit her lip, then drew in a shuddering breath. “I don't think it started with me. Years ago, when I broke it off with Ned and told him I was going to marry Jonah, he was livid. I'd...well, I'd never seen anyone so angry. He almost hit me, but thought better of it.” Her eyes glazed over as the memories of her youth ran through her mind. “He told me that I'd get mine, that marrying Jonah would ruin my life.”

“Hogwash!” Mavis said. “Marrying my son was the smartest move you ever made. Who was Ned Jansen? A nobody, that's who! And look at him. How many times has he been married and divorced? Three, the last I counted. Probably more. Nearly broke him with all that alimony and child support.”

“And losing his copper mine to Dad,” Max added.

“Ned Jansen never had a lick of sense.” Mavis took a long swallow from her cup.

“So why go after us now?” Casey wondered aloud. “This is all ancient history.”

Mavis nodded, her firm McKee chin thrust forward defiantly. “That's right.”

“No one's sure yet, but the theory is that the copper-mine deal pushed Ned over the edge. He was already in trouble financially, and when Dad ended up with the mine and it was suddenly valuable, Ned decided to get even. But he couldn't stop there. Killing Dad wasn't enough. He wanted to destroy everyone and everything Dad cared about.”

“Because of me.” Virginia set her cup on the table. Nervously twisting her wedding ring, she shook her head, as if fighting a losing battle with her guilt.

“And because his life fell apart. He never found another woman who would stand by him the way you stood by Dad.” Max scowled darkly. “Anyway, he's in custody, and once they locate Barry White's body, I guess the mystery is solved and we can get back to our normal lives again.”

“Ain't nothin' ever been normal here,” Kiki said, scooting back her chair and reaching for the coffeepot. She refilled everyone's cup, then went to wash her hands. “May as well start breakfast. I imagine Hammond Polk will be out here soon enough trying to get all the credit for a job well done when we all know that without Sloan Redhawk this case would still be unsolved.”

Sloan. Casey's heart was suddenly heavy. He'd done his job. All he had to do now was collect his payment and move on. She hurt so badly inside, she could barely speak. What would she say to him when he showed up at the ranch to collect his things? How would she say goodbye?

 

Sloan was bone tired as he drove back to the ranch. It had been a long night and the satisfaction of solving the mystery still eluded him. Returning to the Rocking M, he realized how attached he'd become to these solitary, snow-covered acres. The land was vast and wide, the mountains red giants that knuckled into flat rises and plateaus. But most of all this place reminded him of Casey.

He felt an unexpected tug on his heart at the thought of her, and as he parked his truck near the barn, he wished there was some way to come to terms with her. Instinctively he knew that he'd never meet another woman like her and he only wished he'd had the sense and common decency not to have made love to her. It seemed whenever she was around, he lost his head.

So now he'd be moving on. With enough money in his pocket to start a new life. A life alone. The realization settled like lead in his stomach, but he told himself he'd get over it.

He walked to the house and nearly stopped when he saw her, standing alone on the porch, the breeze lifting her hair from her face, her arms wrapped around her middle. She looked as if she'd been waiting for him all day, the wife searching the horizon expectantly for the return of her husband.

She managed a smile, frail that it was, and he couldn't help himself. He opened his arms, and she fell into them and held him close. She smelled of lilacs and something deep inside him broke. No doubt he'd spend the rest of his life hoping for a whiff of just that scent.

“I was worried about you,” she said, sniffing and fighting back the tears that threatened her eyes. “So worried.”

“No need.” God, it was nice to have someone care. He looked up and saw Jenner, his gaze thoughtful as he stared at them.

“I guess you earned your money, Redhawk.”

“Looks like.”

“Come on in. Max'll make out a check.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, wondering why the money didn't excite him, why the thought of buying his grandfather's old place didn't cause his heart to leap. Extricating himself from Casey's embrace, he winked and tipped his hat. “Nice knowin' ya.”

“Yes,” she said huskily, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Together they walked inside to the den, where Max had already written the check. “This calls for a drink,” he said, handing the payment to Sloan. Clapping him on the back, he said, “I guess my brother's faith in you was well-founded.”

“I owed him one. Now we're even.”

“Yeah, what was that all about?” Max asked.

Jenner poured whiskey into several glasses, and Sloan, though Jenner had made him swear never to talk about it, decided it was time to clear the air. “It happened in Wyoming, a bar in some little obscure town. I can't even remember the name.”

“During a rodeo?” Max guessed.

“No reason to dredge it all up again,” Jenner protested, but Sloan intended to have his say.

“It was one of those barroom things. A guy was hitting on this woman. He was all over her and she didn't like it. Told him to get lost several times, but he still kept pawing her, so I stepped in. The guy took offense and came at me with a knife.” Sloan shook his head at the memory. “Jenner was with me at the time. Hell, I never saw anyone move so fast. Just as the guy lunged, swinging that blade at my throat, Jenner here stepped in. The knife slashed at my chest, cutting through my jacket, but Jenner slammed the guy against the wall and beat his fist against a table until he dropped the knife.”

“No big deal,” Jenner mumbled.

“Depends on what side of the blade you were on. It was a big deal to me.”

“And now we're square.”

“Right.” He glanced at Casey. “Except that Barry White's still on the loose.”

“Not for long. Polk called. Looks like they picked up his trail north of Dawson City. Dogs are tracking him. They think he'll be in custody by nightfall.”

“Good,” Sloan said, then realized he had no reason to stay. He folded the check into his wallet.

Max cleared his throat. “You know, we can't thank you enough.”

“No need.”

“No, I mean it. If it wasn't for you, Casey might never have been found and—”

“But I was,” Casey said with a toss of her head. Her eyes still bright from her fight against tears were steady with determination. Crossing the room, she extended her hand. “Thanks, Sloan. Now it's my turn to owe you.”

He shook his head, but saw a glint in her gaze. “Goodbye,” she said, and he'd never realized until just that moment how final that word could sound.

 

Hours later, it was over. Ned Jansen, breaking down completely, had confessed to everything. He even named the man he'd hired to kill Sloan and Casey—a drifter by the name of Mitchell Cox—and told Hammond Polk where he was hiding. A deputy reported back that Cox had been arrested.

The FBI had come and gone and Sheriff Polk was proud of himself, even if Sloan had broken the case. It was just a matter of time before Barry White would be hauled in and that would be that. Jonah McKee's murder, the arson, the attack on Beth's car, Casey's kidnapping—everything solved. And one neat feather for his cap. Yep, Hammond left the ranch full of himself, and Casey felt empty inside.

She was relieved that the trauma was over, but the thought of Sloan leaving caused an ache deep inside. She paused at the door to Jenner's old room and felt cold to the marrow of her bones. Then, because she couldn't stand another second of sitting in the house and pining for him, she found her jacket and boots and took off for the barn. She'd go riding. This time alone. This time without fear. Even though her heart was cracking.

“Come on, Jezebel,” she said as she entered the barn and switched on the lights. She had just reached for the bridle when she saw him. Mud streaked and unshaven, his eyes ablaze with anger, Barry White was crouched beneath the ladder to the hayloft. She tried to scream, but before she could utter a word, he jumped and pressed one grimy hand hard against her lips, while the other held her firmly against him.

“Now listen!” he growled. “You're my ticket out of here. I know that Ned sold me out, but I'm not goin' down, got it?”

She nodded, but her mind was spinning ahead. She knew that she would never allow him to victimize her again. “You're going to drive one of the rigs from the ranch away from here and you're going to take me with you. To Canada, just like in the original plan. Then I swear I'll let you go. I never did hurt you before now, did I, Casey?”

She wasn't even listening to his excuses because now she knew how violent he was. Hadn't he shot a state trooper or policeman, then probably crashed his car on purpose to give him time to escape?

“Okay, now remember, I got this here gun, and if I have to, I'll use it, so you go real quiet like and walk over to one of the trucks. I'll follow along and no one will be the wiser.”

He turned toward the door as headlights flashed through the windows. “Damn!”

Without a second's hesitation, she rammed the heel of her boot into his shin. He let out a howl, and she spun, kneeing him in the groin as he fumbled with the gun. Horses neighed wildly. With a holler, he grabbed his crotch, and she whirled away from him and ran backward trying to reach the door.

“Stop!” He leveled the barrel of the rifle at her and she dropped to the floor, crawling snakelike to cover behind a barrel of oats. “Stupid move, Casey,” he rasped, his breathing short, anger making his words tremble. Oh, God. She couldn't just cower here, waiting for him to lunge. She looked around wildly and then reached upward, knocking the pitchfork from the wall.

“Ain't no little pitchfork gonna save you.”

“Help!” she yelled, then screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Son of a bitch!” Barry kicked the oat barrel aside.

The door flew open and Sloan dived into the room, knocking Barry to the floor. The gun exploded. Horses screamed in terror. Shouts erupted from the house as the two men struggled, grunting and cursing, rolling on the floor. Casey picked up the pitchfork and forced the wicked tines into Barry's leg. He squealed, but didn't give up his hold. Barry had his hands around Sloan's neck, but Sloan was astride the other man, intent on pounding his head against the floor.

Casey saw the rifle and grabbed it, pulling it to her shoulder and aiming right at Barry's balding head. “Stop!” she commanded. “Stop it right now, or I swear, I'll kill you!”

Barry's hands dropped to his sides just as Max ran into the barn. “What the hell? Oh, God! Casey, are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said as Sloan hauled Barry to his feet.

“Call the sheriff,” he said.

Max grinned wickedly. “Should we let Grandma at him first? She has plans for this one.” Casey remembered just how Mavis thought she might teach Barry a lesson.

Using baling twine, Max tied Barry's hands behind his back, then marched him back to the house. Casey started to follow, but Sloan pulled her back into the barn. “Don't you want to know why I came back to the ranch?”

She squared her shoulders and braced herself. “Why?”

“I forgot something.”

Her heart squeezed a little. “What's that?”