скачать книгу бесплатно
“Single file,” she said. “He was way behind me.”
“How far?”
“Maybe fifty yards.”
“And when you realized he was shot, what did you do?”
“I rode back to see if I could help him.”
As she visualized those moments, she realized that her instinct to help Hugh had probably saved her from abduction. The kidnapper had obviously been waiting for her. His vehicle was parked just beyond the bend in the road.
If she’d gone forward, she would have run right into him. In fact, that had probably been his plan. If she’d stayed frozen in one place, he would only have to carry her limp, drugged body twenty or thirty yards.
But she had returned to help Hugh. When the kidnapper finally overwhelmed her, they were probably over a hundred yards from his getaway car—too far to drag her body before Mo and Tucker Oates approached.
“What is it?” Lucas asked. “What do you remember?”
Though her deduction offered a significant understanding of the murder and kidnap attempt, she didn’t believe it was wise to share her thoughts with him. As soon as she mentioned kidnapping, she might as well print her real name in banner letters. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was just thinking about Mr. Miller….”
“This is important, Lexie. You’re the sole witness to a murder, the last person to see the victim alive.”
“Except for the murderer,” she said grimly.
“Of course.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but the subtle change in his demeanor was not lost on Lexie. The man was keenly tuned in to her every nuance. Lucas Garrett might only be a local sheriff in a remote and sparsely populated Colorado county, but every instinct told Lexie there was nothing second rate about his investigative skills. He was astute, intuitive and intelligent, an intriguing combination she found deeply attractive. But also dangerous.
She knew she wasn’t yet strong enough to match wits with him. Exhaustion crept over her. Her hand shook when she placed her mug on the pine coffee table in front of her.
“She’s not up to this, Lucas,” Mo said. “Surely you can see that. Why don’t you come back later, after she’s seen Doc Rogers.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He rose from the chair. “We’ll talk again tomorrow morning.”
Though Lexie had been hoping this interrogation would end, she felt suddenly abandoned.
Lucas moved to the doorway, but stopped and turned to face her once more. “Could you handle one last question, Lexie?”
“I suppose so.”
“What was your relationship to Hugh Miller?”
His stare was unwavering, and she felt pinned where she sat. Be careful, an inner voice warned. Remember what’s at stake. A careless word here, a misquote there and faster than you could say tabloid, the family name would be dragged through every mud hole from here to Paris and back again.
The lessons that had been drilled into her since childhood came back like the words to a familiar nursery rhyme: Never relinquish control of an interview. Never let your emotions show or speak without thinking. Take your time. Set the pace. Remember, above all, that when you speak, you’re speaking for the family.
Coolly, she returned his gaze. “There was no relationship, Sheriff.”
“You checked in to cabin number one on Tuesday afternoon. Within hours, Miller checked in to cabin number two. Did you know each other before you came here?”
She was able to answer with absolute honesty. “I never met Hugh Miller until I came here.”
“You were riding together this morning. Last night, you spent the night together on the mountain.”
Those were the facts, and she knew how they must look to the outside observer. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Then, why don’t you straighten me out?”
“Miller and I left separately for our ride. We both happened to be on Summit Trail at the same time, but we hardly spoke.” She confronted him directly, telling the truth. “We slept in separate tents. If you meant to infer that there was some sort of romantic relationship between us, you’d be dead wrong.”
“I could’ve told you that,” Mo put in. “Lexie and Mr. Miller were strangers. Anyone could see that.”
“I need to hear it from Lexie,” Lucas said to his sister.
“Well, excuse me for trying to be helpful.” She scowled at him.
“I know,” Lucas said. “But now’s not the time. I’ll be back later. We’ll talk more then.”
Mo gave her brother a curt nod even as he turned his attention back to Lexie. “A man has been killed, gunned down in cold blood. You, yourself, were attacked and drugged. Whoever perpetrated these crimes is still out there and it’s my job to apprehend him. And, like it or not, Lexie, you’re the one person who can give me the information I need to do it.”
Despite herself, Lexie felt bound by the intensity of words and the heat of his stare. She couldn’t have looked the other way if her life had depended upon it.
“Think about it,” he said. The front door closed behind him, but his admonition hung in the air, vibrating in the tense silence he’d left behind.
Think about it, he’d said. And Lexie knew with absolute certainty that from now until the next time she saw the tall, dark, blue-eyed sheriff she would think of little else.
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT by the time Lucas pulled up in front of his one-story log home and cut the engine. The smell of pine, sharp and strong, came from looming spruce trees at the edges of the yard. On his way to the door, Lucas exhaled a deep breath into the clear night air and did his best to release the tension that was a fact of life for every cop who took his job as seriously as he did.
Earlier, he’d stopped by the house to feed and water his horses. The four purebred Quarter horses that were his pride and joy would be fine for tonight. All that was left was to fix himself something to eat and find a way to turn off his brain so he could get some sleep.
As always, Rocky was waiting on the porch, his ears peaked forward, tail wagging and an expression that in human terms could only be described as a welcoming smile.
“I could have used your help today, old man,” Lucas said as he reached down to stroke the three-legged dog’s thick tawny coat. Tomorrow he planned to find out if Rocky could pick up the killer’s trail—something Lucas and his deputies had so far been unable to do. Other than a couple of dubious footprints and generic-looking tire tracks, they hadn’t found any sign of the killer or discovered one useful clue. Lucas had hoped to find a spent shell casing or some other evidence left behind by whomever had murdered Hugh Miller and attacked Lexie Dale.
“Lexie Dale,” Lucas grumbled her name aloud as he shoved open the front door, waited for Rocky to slip inside and then slammed it behind him harder than he’d intended.
The woman with the intriguing violet-blue eyes, honey blond hair and the face of an angel was nothing if not an unmitigated liar. And a lousy one at that, Lucas thought with a frown.
It was bad enough that she was a reluctant witness, but what made the situation especially troublesome for Lucas was the way the she’d gotten under his skin. For some unknown reason, she seemed to have a stranglehold on his imagination, a hold he couldn’t shake loose. There was just something about the beautiful and mysterious witness—or non-witness, as she insisted on remaining—that brought Lucas’s thoughts back to her, again and again. Even as he’d coordinated the investigation on the mountain tonight, he’d been distracted by thoughts of her. Even as he’d attempted to track a killer, he’d mentally replayed their conversation, memorizing not only her responses, but the classic contours of her face and the slightly breathless sound of her voice.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d looked at him, the way her eyes seemed to plead with him to accept her half-truths and evasions. Although he hadn’t really been tempted to ignore his common sense, logic and well-trained instincts, he had felt a measure of compassion for what seemed like her desperate need to convince him.
She was holding back information, he told himself as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Although he didn’t know what kind of information, his gut told him that she might just hold the key to cracking the case wide open.
As a lawman, Lucas had been trained to rely on facts. He didn’t put much stock in things like ESP or the supernatural, but he had learned to listen to his instincts, the instincts that gave cops what some called a second pair of eyes. And that second sight, or whatever one called it, was telling him Lexie Dale was a woman in more trouble than she could handle.
Perhaps that was why he couldn’t seem to shut down his intense feelings of concern for her and why she seemed to bring out every protective instinct he possessed. Even now, frustrated as he was by the outcome of their interview, he still wondered if she was all right, worried that she might be in danger from whomever or whatever it was that had her scrambling to measure her every response.
But a reluctant witness was better than none at all, he reminded himself again as he twisted the top off the icy beer bottle.
As a cop, his strongest impulse was to drive back to the ranch, drag her out of bed and push her until she broke down and confessed to whatever it was she knew. But as a man, all he wanted to do was protect her, to comfort and console her and vanquish whatever it was that had her running so scared. But how did a man, even a county sheriff with twelve deputies under his direct command, go about protecting a woman who seemed intent on lying to him?
“It’s a helluva situation, Rocky,” Lucas muttered and pulled open the refrigerator again to withdraw the steak he’d left defrosting that morning on the top shelf.
Since when did he abide a liar, he asked himself, or give a damn what happened to one? He grabbed a skillet from the rack over head, slid it onto the stovetop and tossed the steak into it.
She was lying, he told himself as he slathered the T-bone with butter and leaned back against the edge of the countertop to sip his beer without tasting and listen to his dinner sizzling with deaf ears. But why? Who was she trying to protect? Hugh Miller? Her own or the dead man’s reputation? Maybe. Or was it possible she was protecting a murderer?
Lucas didn’t think so. In fact, he dismissed the idea even as it formed. After all, Lexie herself had been a victim of this afternoon’s violence.
But if she wasn’t protecting the perpetrator then that left only the victim. Hugh Miller. And if it was Miller she was protecting then that meant she knew a lot more about the dead man than she was telling. But what? What was so important a man had to be protected even to the grave?
And what about their relationship? It was obvious they’d come to Destiny Canyon Ranch together, despite the few hours gap between their check-in times. She’d been adamant about not knowing Miller before, and Lucas thought she was telling the truth. But he was also certain that Miller figured into her life. Were they business associates? It didn’t make sense for her to hide a logical connection like that.
Lucas kept coming back to one explanation: In spite of Lexie’s denials, she and Hugh Miller must have been lovers. That possibility caused an unwelcome and uncomfortable tightening sensation in his gut. A sensation that told him he had darn well better find a way to stop thinking about Lexie Dale as a woman and start thinking of her as just one more piece in the puzzle that would ultimately solve this case.
So what if Lexie Dale had been in love with Hugh Miller? Did it make a difference? Probably not, unless one of them was married. That would explain the attempted cover-up, and maybe even supply a suspect. Had Hugh Miller been the victim of a jealous wife? If so, Lucas doubted the wife herself had been the shooter. Not unless the woman was a trained markswoman with the stealth of a cougar.
No. Lucas did not seriously believe that Hugh Miller had been killed as the result of a jealous rage. Criminals driven by passion left obvious signs and this killer had left no such trail, not a scrap of evidence to suggest the kind of wild emotion that led to careless mistakes. In fact, by all appearances, it would seem Hugh Miller had been the victim of a professional hit. And that possibility opened the door to more scenarios than Lucas could even begin to sort out tonight.
The smell of scorching meat brought him up short from the growing mountain of questions for which he had no answers. At this point, all he had were the usual questions about the crime and the victim, the kind of questions that usually led to a motive, a suspect and ultimately to an arrest. Motive, means and opportunity, those were the building blocks of any case.
“Business as usual,” Lucas told himself.
But if that really was all there was to it, then why did this case seem anything but usual?
The answer was one Lucas didn’t want to consider, but couldn’t deny. The answer was Lexie Dale. Or more specifically, his own intense reaction to her.
He slid the charred steak onto a plate, grabbed a fork and knife and took his dinner and his unfinished beer into the living room where he sat in a chair by the window without eating for several minutes.
For tonight, he would concentrate on how best to next approach his reluctant witness. She had to have some idea why someone had tried to abduct her. Was she a runaway wife? A rich heiress? A woman plagued by a stalker? She must have some idea. Tomorrow he would push her harder for answers, especially some answers about her relationship with Hugh Miller. He’d already decided that the next time he questioned Lexie it would be at his office. The more formal setting would serve as a reminder to him to keep his bothersome attraction to the woman from interfering with his judgment. With a killer on the loose, he could hardly afford to let chemistry get in the way of his duty.
Tomorrow, armed with the facts from the background check on Hugh Miller that Deputy Ferguson was gathering even now, Lucas would have the kind of leverage he needed to force Lexie to fill in the blanks.
With his resolve restored and firmly in place, he finished his overdone steak, then leaned back in his chair and fell into the deep sleep of a man who’d put in a long, frustrating day.
A cold wet canine nose nudged Lucas awake hours later. “Hey, Rocky,” he mumbled as he stretched his back and frowned at the realization that he’d spent the night in his chair. “Thanks for the wake-up call, old man.”
It was still dark when Lucas opened the back door to let Rocky out, but the sun had turned the cloudless morning sky a pale white by the time he’d showered and dressed.
As he poured his first cup of coffee, he mentally ticked off the course the investigation would take today. The ongoing search for tracks or any kind of evidence around the murder scene would be his first priority. But of almost equal importance was his next conversation with Lexie Dale.
His mind was so fully focused on the subject of his rumination that when the phone rang, he almost expected to hear her voice.
“Sorry to bother you so early, Lucas,” Eli Ferguson apologized, “but I figured you’d want to have this information ASAP.”
“No problem, Eli. What’s up?”
“We still don’t have a positive ID on yesterday’s murder victim.”
Lucas frowned as he listened to his deputy explain.
“There’s no such address as the one listed on the Illinois driver’s license he was carrying, and there’s no record of anyone by the name of Hugh Miller residing in Cook County.”
“What about the vehicle registration in his car?”
“As bogus as the driver’s license,” Eli declared. “The registration lists the same information as the license and the plates don’t match the car’s make and model.”
“Stolen?”
“Maybe. But they could have been lifted from a junkyard. The plates were traced to a 1968 Chevy that was totaled and junked twenty years ago.”
“It seems reasonable to suspect the car is stolen, too.” Lucas frowned. A stolen car was one thing, but going to such lengths to create a false identity added a new and disturbing dimension to what was already a complex case.
“Probably,” Eli agreed. “But we can’t confirm that until we hear back from the Illinois State Police. I sent the prints off to the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, but it could be two or three weeks before we hear back from them.”
Before he’d left for home last night, Lucas had directed Eli to over-night a set of Miller’s fingerprints to the CBI headquarters in Denver where they’d be compared to catalogued prints on file.
“Or longer,” Lucas grumbled more to himself than to his deputy. All his thoughts focused on Lexie Dale. The woman with the intriguing eyes that hinted at a heart full of secrets.
“Looks like we’re a long way from getting a positive identification,” Eli said.
“Maybe not as far as you think, Eli,” Lucas said before he hung up the phone, reached for his hat and his car keys and headed out the door. Maybe only as far as Destiny Canyon Ranch and one very beautiful witness.
Chapter Three
The hills that ringed the valley around the ranch house seemed to glow with reflected sunshine, but the beauty of the mountain sunrise was lost on Lucas. He was a man on a mission. Outside, the breeze blew cool, but inside the kitchen the air was warm and deliciously thick with the aroma of bacon, coffee and cinnamon.
Mo was standing at the stove with her back to Lucas when he walked in. In spite of the early hour, Tucker Oates was seated at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and poring over the pages of a tabloid newspaper, The Exposé.
“Morning, Lucas.” He tipped back in his chair and ran his hand over his grizzled jaw. “Since you hadn’t been around to interrogate me, I figured I’d stop by here and save you the trouble of tracking me down.”
“As if you’d be so hard to find,” Mo said sardonically.
“I get around.” Tucker hooked his thumbs through the red suspenders he always wore to keep his blue jeans attached to his scrawny frame. “You’d be surprised, Mo.”
“Huh! Like anything you could do would surprise me.”
“Wait and see.” Tucker chuckled to himself. “Someday you might just find out there’s more to old Tucker than you’ve ever allowed.”
Mo glanced at Lucas over her shoulder then wiped her hands on a dishtowel and reached for an earthenware coffee mug on the counter beside her.
“I figured you’d be by early,” she said as she filled the mug with steaming brew and held it out to him. “Cal should be down in a minute.”
Lucas eyed the pan of fresh, warm cinnamon rolls sitting on a trivet on the countertop.
“Help yourself,” Mo said. “I was just getting ready to put the eggs on. What’ll it be, one or two?”
“Thanks, but none for me. I just swung by to pick up Miss Dale.” He glanced out the window across the expanse of green meadow at the four guest cabins in the distance, situated on the southwest edge of the Garrett property. “I don’t suppose she’s made an appearance yet this morning?”
Mo shook her head. “Not yet, poor thing. I doubt she’s even awake. She was still on the phone, talking to her family when I turned in last night. Seemed real upset, too, not that it’s any wonder, given what she’s been through. I’m just glad I talked her into staying in the guest room last night.”
