When she comes home.
Carolyn repeated those words to herself.
Nicole will be home for Christmas.
“Ain’t this something?” he said. “With the feds and the choppers and bloodhounds and all.”
“Dylan said he’d call out the National Guard if that’s what it takes.”
They went quiet. She never felt a need to make conversation with Lucas. In the many years she’d known this old cowboy, he’d always been prone to taciturn silence. According to gossip from Polly, Lucas Mann had a reputation as a ladies’ man when he went into town, but Carolyn found that characterization hard to imagine.
He shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “You and Burke went over to the Circle M. How’d that turn out?”
Unable to adequately describe her disgust with the Sons of Freedom, she shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Logan’s not a bad kid, you know.”
When she was dating that scumbag, Lucas had been one of the guys who thought she should marry him. “He’s changed.”
“Betcha he was downright happy to see you.”
Why would Lucas make that assumption? “How much do you know about the Sons of Freedom?”
“Not much. They’re against the government getting in the way of everyday people. Going back to the good old days.”
“When women had fewer rights than cattle?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Carolyn. Ain’t nobody fixing to send you back to the kitchen.” He lifted the wreath onto his shoulder. “It don’t seem like the SOF means any harm.”
Not unless you count murder.
And whatever other criminal activities they were engaged in. She’d seen the sophisticated weaponry. Old-time pioneers didn’t need automatic assault rifles. “If I ever see Sam Logan again, it’ll be too soon.”
The front door of the ranch house slammed and she looked toward the sound. Her brother stepped onto the veranda and gripped the railing. Even at this distance, she could see tension weighing down upon him, bending his shoulders.
Giving Elvis a final pat, she hurried back to the house. The closer she got, the more distress she saw in Dylan. When she touched his arm, he was trembling.
His voice was so low she could barely hear him.
“We got another call from the kidnapper.”
When Dylan was a toddler, two years younger than Carolyn, she hated to see him cry. At the first sign of tears, she’d cuddle him, tell him stories and sing songs until he smiled. If only she could do the same thing now—sweep her brother up in her loving arms and ease the aching in his heart.
She wrapped an arm around his middle and leaned her head on his shoulder. Memories of long-ago lullabies whispered in her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer false promises that everything would be all right.
“I told the kidnapper,” Dylan said, “that we were having a hard time getting the ransom in time because of the banks. He changed his deadline. We have until Monday at five o’clock.”
“That’s good news,” she said.
“Not for Nicole. She has to be with those bastards for two more days. God only knows what they’re doing to her.”
Burke joined them on the porch. His manner was subdued but assertive, striking exactly the right tone of calm control. She wondered if that attitude was something they taught at Quantico or if it came naturally.
He said, “You did a good job on the phone, Dylan.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” he said darkly. “I’d rather give them the money and get my wife back.”
In an ideal world, that was how a negotiation should work. But not with a kidnapper. If Nicole was being held at the Circle M, Logan would never free her—she could identify him. If the pregnant woman, Sunny, was to be believed, Logan had already presided over one murder. Nicole might be the next.
“We have two more days to find her,” Carolyn said. “You did good, Dylan. You bought us more time.”
“And Dylan got the kidnapper to promise one proof of life a day. More photos of Nicole give us more clues,” said Burke.
Thinking of evidence, Carolyn asked, “Did you trace the call?”
“Not this time. He was too fast, and there aren’t a lot of cell towers in this area to use for tracking. But it was the same cell phone number as the first call.”
“Sheriff Trainer was trying to get information on the phone,” she remembered. “Figuring out where the disposable cell was purchased.”
“Thus far,” Burke said, “he’s been unsuccessful.”
“And what about Nate Miller?” she asked. “Did the sheriff find anything at his house?”
“Smith joined the sheriff and his deputies for that search. He has nothing good to say about Miller.”
“Nobody does,” Dylan said. “He’s as mean and bitter as his old man.”
She agreed with her brother. Being around Miller made her skin crawl. “But did they find evidence?”
“Nothing that links him to the kidnapping, but he doesn’t have an alibi for yesterday or last night. We’ll keep him on our list of suspects.”
A list that was ridiculously long. “Are you talking to other people on that list?”
“Silverman will be coordinating those interviews with
Sheriff Trainer.” He met her gaze. “As you pointed out when we were in town, a lot of these people won’t open up to the FBI. At least they’ll talk to Trainer.”
The painstaking process of gathering clues frustrated Carolyn. She was a big picture kind of person who made decisions and charged ahead, figuring the details would eventually sort themselves out. “Have you got anything, Burke? Any new leads at all?”
“We’re working on it.”
In the distance, she saw the helicopter approaching, flying low over the rugged landscape of forest and rock. Dylan gave her a squeeze and separated from her. “There’s nothing more I can do here. I’m going up with the chopper while there’s still daylight.”
She was glad he’d be getting away from the tension-filled house. “I’ll be here. If there’s nothing I can do to help the investigation, maybe I’ll start with some Christmas decorating.”
“No,” he said firmly. “That’s Nicole’s job. She loves doing that stuff.”
“Should I go in the helicopter with you?” she asked. “Another pair of eyes can’t hurt.”
“You need to stay here,” Burke said. “Corelli is ready to interview you.”
She sensed there was something more he wanted to talk to her about. The midnight rendezvous with Sunny? Carolyn needed to be there to reassure Sunny. If that poor girl saw a bunch of FBI guys in bulletproof vests, she’d certainly be spooked.
Waving goodbye to her brother as he ran toward the chopper, she turned to Burke. “Tonight at midnight,” she said. “I’m coming with you.”
He glanced left and right, looking for spies. The only person
she saw was bowlegged Lucas, ambling toward the front gate with the evergreen wreath hanging from his shoulder.
“We’ll talk,” Burke said. “Inside.”
Compared to the chaos of this morning, the dining room had taken on an aura of quiet efficiency.
At one end of the table, Agent Silverman stood before a battery of computers and maps. He wore a phone headset, leaving his hands free to make notes. She’d barely noticed this young man before, probably because he looked like she thought an FBI agent should—totally average. With his brown hair, brown eyes and medium build, Silverman could easily fade into the background. This morning, he’d traded his FBI windbreaker for a faded green Stanford sweatshirt. When she smiled at him, he acknowledged her with a quick grin before he refocused on the task of coordinating the search efforts.
At the opposite end of the table was Corelli, wearing his neat black suit and striped tie. He could have been the junior partner in a law firm.
Burke stood with her behind Corelli’s left shoulder. “Take a look at what we’ve got so far.”
Corelli clicked a few keys on his computer, bringing up a rogues’ gallery of photographs. “This is what I’ve found on the names Burke gave me for the SOF.”
She scanned the driver’s-license photos, recognizing some of the faces from the men she’d seen at the Circle M. The only one who jumped out at her was Butch Thurgood. Even without a Stetson, he looked like a cowboy with a thick, old-fashioned mustache. “Tell me about Butch.”
“No criminal record,” Corelli said, “but a Web search gave me a lot of info. He’s a former rodeo star, a bucking bronc rider. Won the championship title at Cheyenne Frontier Days in 2004 and 2005.”
He brought up a full-length photo of Butch Thurgood on the computer screen. A rangy, good-looking man, he wore an embroidered Western shirt and a silver belt buckle the size of a saucer. “He has a reputation as a horse whisperer, somebody who can tame wild mustangs.”
Oddly, Carolyn felt reassured. Since Nicole was a veterinarian, she might have something in common with Butch.
Beside her, Burke checked his wristwatch. “Now the bad news. Pete Richter.”
Corelli clicked a few keys. The photo that appeared was a police mug shot. His dark eyes had a mean squint. Like Butch, Richter had facial hair but his patchy beard was the result of careless grooming.
“I assume,” she said, “that he has a criminal record.”
“Starting when he was eighteen,” Corelli said. “Shoplifting, vagrancy, DUIs. He served two years in prison for assault.”
The reassurance she’d felt when looking at Butch turned into dread. If Nicole was in the clutches of Richter, things couldn’t be good. “What about the rest of the SOF men?”
“Minor charges, here and there. One dishonorable discharge from the military. They’re low-level, petty criminals,” Burke said. “Amazingly, Sam Logan has a clean record, apart from one arrest for fraud that never resulted in trial because the woman he’d stolen from dropped the charges.”
She wasn’t surprised. “Logan can be charming.”
Burke scoffed, “Ready for more information?”
“I suppose.”
He waved his hand like a magician going for the big reveal. “Okay, Corelli. Show her the money.”
The Sons of Freedom bank statement appeared on the screen.
“Wait a minute.” Carolyn averted her gaze. “Can you do this without a warrant? Is this even legal?”
“Corelli knows how to follow protocol and he’s a talented hacker.”
On the screen, she read the balance in the account. “One thousand two hundred dollars? How can Logan support all those people on that amount? There must be another account.”
“Nope,” Burke said. “No other account in Sam Logan’s name. Nothing else for the SOF.”
“Credit cards? Loans?”
“Nothing.”
Corelli flipped through a series of other financial documents while he explained, “Here’s how it works. Before a bill comes due, Logan deposits just enough money—in cash—to cover the check.
Always in cash
.”
Finances were Carolyn’s area of expertise. When taking on a new supplier for Carlisle Certified Organic Beef, she carefully reviewed all their financial documents. “Seems like a clever way to avoid paying taxes. If he only balances out with small amounts, he can claim it all comes from contributions.”
“Good insight,” Burke said. “Source of income is the important factor. It’s hard to know exactly how the SOF makes their money when everything is on a cash basis.”
“I’m not a forensic accountant,” Corelli said, “but I feel safe in assuming that Logan has a boatload of cash that isn’t banked.”
“That might explain the security cameras,” she said, “and the heavy-duty firepower at the SOF compound. They’re afraid of being robbed.”
Burke raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Let’s not characterize Logan as a little old man who stuffs his mattress with ten-dollar bills. He needs his guards to keep his business secret, to protect his little kingdom.”
“From what?”
“Feds like me,” Burke said. “Whatever he’s buying and selling is illegal. Could be weapons, could be drugs, could be any number of black-market items that would be highly interesting to the DEA or Homeland Security.”
Though Carolyn agreed that Logan was probably involved in some kind of illegal activity, she didn’t think of her former fiancé as a terrorist. “Logan isn’t that clever.”
“He’s no mastermind,” Burke agreed. “But he could be working for one. His compound could be one stop on a distribution chain.”
She didn’t like the picture he was painting, especially didn’t like the thought that Nicole might be in the middle of this spider’s web. Not to mention the other innocent women and children.
They needed to get everyone out of there, starting tonight with Sunny.
T
WELVE MINUTES BEFORE
the midnight meet with Sunny, Burke lay on his belly in the cold, dead grass outside the west field bordering the Circle M. He peered through infrared, heat-sensing binoculars at a stand of pine trees, watching for any sign of movement. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see any of the buildings of the SOF compound. Except for the clump of pines, this field was flat and featureless.
Carolyn crouched beside him, hiding behind the bared branches of a shrub. His backup—Neville and Silverman—were both heavily armed. They’d separated and found their own hiding spots, fading into the landscape. The only way Burke could see them was through the heat-sensing binoculars.
He didn’t like this setup. With very little cover, they were exposed to the possibility of ambush. If Logan and his men charged toward them on horseback, escape would be difficult. They’d parked a couple of hundred yards away, and he
didn’t like their chances for a safe retreat if they were outnumbered and attacked with a barrage of bullets from semiautomatic weapons.
He especially hated that Carolyn was here. She’d insisted on being part of this operation, dug in her heels. He’d wanted to pull rank, reminding her that he was in charge. But her argument made too much sense. If, in fact, Sunny truly wanted to escape from the Circle M, she’d be alarmed if she didn’t see Carolyn—the person she trusted.
He glanced toward his companion. Dressed all in black, she was as slender as a shadow. “I’d feel a whole lot better if you were wearing full body armor, like Neville and Silverman.”
“This bulletproof vest is enough,” she said quietly. “The whole reason I’m here is to keep Sunny from being scared. If she sees me dressed like a robot, she’ll run.”
Again, her logic made sense. For exactly the same reason she’d stated, Burke was only wearing a Kevlar vest. “Let’s go over the plan again.”
“It’s not that complicated,” she said. “I stay with you. When you give me the go-ahead, I run to the trees. No time for conversation. I take Sunny by the hand and bring her back here.”
“If you hear me call out a warning, what do you do?”
“Seek cover.” She turned so she was looking at the flat land between their hiding spot and the pines. “There isn’t much to hide behind.”
“Hit the dirt,” he said. “The main thing is not to stand and run, making yourself a big, fat target.”
“Excuse me? You think I’m big and fat?”
“Your body’s great.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I like the way you’re put together.” This wasn’t the right time for this conversation, but he couldn’t control his
thoughts. Even now, in the midst of a life-threatening situation, his brain flashed snapshots of Carolyn. The swing of her hips when he followed her up the staircase. Her long legs striding with purpose. Her casual grace when she sat on her bed. “Oh, yeah. You’ve got a great body.”
“You’re no slouch yourself,” she said. “Do you work out or do you get enough exercise chasing the evildoers of the world?”
He didn’t answer, preferring to concentrate on the business at hand. After a moment of silence, he lowered his binoculars and checked his wristwatch. Five minutes until midnight.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about Logan being part of a distribution chain.”
He peered through his binoculars again. “And?”
“If somebody is bringing illegal goods into this area, the most logical route would be the pass that follows that old Indian Trail. It comes out of the mountains at the south pasture where all the sabotage was taking place.”
After studying topographical maps of the area, he’d been leaning toward the same conclusion. He and Corelli had been listening to the chatter from Logan’s office where Burke had hidden a bug. There had been talk about making a pickup, but no one mentioned where or what would be delivered. “You could be right about the route.”
“The sabotage started after Dylan moved the herd into that pasture.”
“Logan and his men might have been causing trouble so Dylan would move the cattle. If they’re using that trail, there’s less chance that someone would see them if the pasture was empty.”