Attracted to Fire (36 page)

Ash noted Chip's stiffened body. The man had more than one reason to be angry. Yet in the past few days, Ash had changed his mind about him. He sensed a good man, one who'd not participate in a murder. Time to get closer and see what happened.

“I can't apologize for doing my job.” He chose to reveal more information. “What would you do if you were committed to protecting Lindsay's life?”

Chip sighed. “I'd do whatever it took to make sure she was safe.”

“Now you know where Meghan and I stand.”

“I could use more honesty. I'm not, nor have I ever been, the bad guy.”

“I'm banking on those words.” Ash wanted to dig deeper about Ethan, a suspicion that refused to let go. “Did your dad have a heart condition?”

“No. His checkups were always good. No elevated blood pressure. Cholesterol levels fell within the norms, and heart disease isn't in our family. My grandpa lived to be ninety-eight.” He stared out into the dark night. “I don't know why the doctor didn't detect a heart problem. I thought about an autopsy, but I was grieving and angry at the time.”

The nibbling at Ash's mind continued. “How well did your dad know the vice president?”

“They were good friends, and Mr. Burnette trusted him with his prize animals. Dad knew him long before I did.”

“Before his son committed suicide?”

“Before Kyle was born.”

“Do you know if your dad and the vice president talked about his son's death?”

“I'm sure of it. Mr. Burnette spent a couple of months at the ranch afterward. Dad said he shed buckets of tears.”

“Did the VP spend much time here later on?”

“Yes. His wife left him during the trial, and he preferred the solitude of the ranch. What are you driving at?”

The idea Ethan had been murdered pounded at his brain. “Chip, I'd like to have an autopsy done on your dad.”

Chip's gaze flew to Ash. “Why? Do you think one of the agents had something to do with Dad's death? Wade's murder? Lindsay's stalking?”

“I don't know, but I'd sure like to find out. Chip, you're a smart man. You could be working against us, but I don't think so.”

“Do you need blood to prove it?” Bitterness dripped from his tongue.

“Let's hope not. Do you play chess?”

“A little. Dad and I used to bring out the board now and then. Why?”

“I'm just wondering if you're a pawn. Now I need to know the rest of the players.” Ash pulled up next to a fence line at the Dancin' Dust. “Once you jump the fence, an agent will escort you back home.”

“All right. Get the autopsy done. I want to know how my dad died.”

Chapter 61

Meghan sensed excitement kicking into gear when the flashing lights of the Silver Spur came into view. Trucks, motorcycles, and a few cars filled the parking lot, and the moment she opened the car door, honky-tonk music met her ears. She'd added a few miles since she'd been to a smoky dive. This time she wasn't searching for Shelley.

A curved bar swung to her left, crowded with cowboys and cowgirls who mingled at tables and perched on bar stools. A live band tuned their instruments. The lead singer held a fiddle, two men played guitars, and a woman sat at the drums. Two overhead beams spotlighted the scuffed wooden dance floor. Her gaze swept the place, wondering if her blind date watched her. An empty stool looked like the best place to wait.

She ordered a Sprite and observed the goings-on. The band hit a two-step and couples moved to the dance floor. She declined an offer . . . and observed.

A broad-shouldered man, typical of the jean-clad crowd, stood beside her. “The band's better than usual.”

“I wouldn't know.”

“That's because you haven't been here before.”

Good.
“Do you always notice the first-timers?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He leaned on the bar beside her. “You're drinking Sprite?”

“I am.” She studied his face. Good-looking. Scruffy beard. Too much cheap cologne.

“Don't you want to loosen up?”

“I'm plenty loose right now.”

“Wanna dance?”

“I'm waiting on someone.”

“Lucky man.”

“I'll decide later.”

He straightened. “If he doesn't show, I'll be close by. Don't wait too long. I have my regulars.”

This wasn't the right guy.

By midnight, four cowboys had asked her to dance, and two had bought her another Sprite. She headed to the ladies' room and then to the car. A couple leaned against a truck and kissed. Two guys smoked and laughed. Looked like all the action was inside, but none of what she hoped to find. Ash sat parked at the rear of the parking lot. What a wasted night, and he'd spent a ton on her clothes. Maybe when Lindsay's stalker had been found, he'd take her two-steppin', and she'd show him how the West was really won.

She started the Mustang and let the air conditioning cool her discontent before she phoned Ash. “Sorry. Our guy didn't show.”

“We took a chance. No big deal.”

Except what Ash had spent on clothes. “Do you think he got tipped off?”

“Who knows? Could be someone at the ranch figured us out.”

“What do you think about Chip?”

“Either he's a good impersonator, or he's legit. Look, you drive on back. I'm going to hang around a little while. See if anyone follows you.”

“I'll pay you for these clothes.”

“Would you stop that? I think it was worth the view.”

She laughed and pulled out of the parking lot, spitting gravel and spinning tires. Hmm. She wondered what Chip's Mustang would do on the open road. Four miles later, she noted headlights barreling behind her. Easing over, she hoped he wasn't a drunk. When he didn't pass, she sped up. So did the truck.

“Ash, I got a pickup on my rear. He's doing seventy.”

“I'm on my way. No one left here.”

Meghan pressed the accelerator past seventy-five. “He's doing eighty.”

“I don't like this. I'm hurrying.”

If the driver meant to eliminate her, he'd be firing shots. Ahead she spotted a short bridge. No point alarming Ash. She urged the Mustang faster and approached the bridge. The truck stayed on her tail. So he had a game plan.
Lord, I could use a little help here.
The truck slammed into her as she entered the bridge. She struggled to keep the car on the road. The truck pounded her, like a fire-breathing monster that refused to give up, causing the Mustang to crash into the concrete bridge. The car flipped, sending it midair and into blackness.

Ash heard sounds of a crash. He pressed the accelerator to the floorboard, hoping she'd not been hurt.

“Meghan! What's going on?” When he didn't hear a response, he called for her again.

Racing down the road, he looked for taillights to gauge what had happened to the Mustang. He neared the bridge. About fifteen feet of the concrete embankment had crumbled. Slamming on his brakes, he swerved the truck onto the right side of the bridge just past the impact. Grabbing his flashlight and SIG, he slid down the hill. The Mustang lay wheels up in a dry creek bed.

He snapped open his phone. “Victor, someone ran Meghan off the road. The car flipped off a bridge. Call an ambulance. We're about four miles west of the ranch. Stay where you are. This could be a ploy to nab Lindsay.” Snapping it shut, he made his way to the driver's side.

Not on my watch. Not on my watch. Not Meghan.

The flashlight illuminated her body slumped over the steering wheel. Blood trickled down her face. “Meghan, are you all right?”

He yanked on the car door, but it wouldn't budge. Hurrying to the other side, he kicked in the window and opened the door.

“Meghan.”

He crawled in and felt for a pulse. She was alive. He released the seat belt, debating whether to pull her out or wait for the paramedics. “Talk to me.” When she didn't answer, he carefully lifted her body from the wreckage.

A slight moan escaped her lips. He kissed her while tears blurred his vision. “Hold on, baby. Help's coming.” Why hadn't he told her he loved her? “If you can hear me, I love you.”

The sound of a siren filled the night air. How long had he held her? Ash had no idea if the emergency vehicle was the sheriff or an ambulance, but she needed help.

God, please. Not Meghan.

Chapter 62

Lindsay woke shortly after one thirty in the morning, her TV blaring with an old movie she'd seen before. Meghan should be here by now, and Lindsay wanted to know if the stalker had been found. Her heart sped at the thought of a man naming Burnette as the one who'd ordered Wade's death and stalked her, bombed her car and killed another person. He might even be behind the attempt on her father's life in Atlanta. She slipped into a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt and opened her bedroom door. Victor and Bob stood by the stair railing.

“Hey, guys. Is Meghan back yet?”

Lines creased Bob's brow.

“What's the matter?” She glanced from one agent to the other. “Where's Meghan?”

“I'll get Dave.” Bob walked the hallway. “He's downstairs.”

A sickening dread spread through her. A need for air compounded with lightheadedness assaulted her, a sensation she recognized as a panic attack. She breathed in and out just like Dave had taught her. Meghan had to be all right. She'd risked her life to help bring Burnette to justice. She focused on Victor. “Is she alive? Just tell me that.”

“Yes.”

“How bad? What happened to her?”

“I don't know the details.”

Lindsay descended the stairs, willing her heart to stop its rapid beating. Dave met her at the landing. This was her fault. All her fault. “I have to know about Meghan. I know it's bad, but Victor won't tell me a thing.”

Dave took both her hands. “She was in a car accident—”

“The Silver Spur is only nine miles down the road.” Her breathing grew more rapid, and she trembled.

“Take a deep breath, Lindsay. Look at me.”

Her gaze darted everywhere but at him. She couldn't help it. Meghan was hurt, and she had to be in horrible condition from the looks on everyone's faces.

“Lindsay.” His sharp voice captured her attention, and she looked into his kind face. “Breathe in and out slowly.”

“Will you tell me about Meghan?”

“I will as soon as you calm yourself.”

Several moments later, he led her to the sofa in the family room. She sat there, conscious of others watching her. She wanted to be strong. Hated the weakness. “I'm okay. I want to know about Meghan . . . and the car accident.”

“We don't know anything yet. An ambulance has taken her to the hospital.”

“Thank you.” Her voice quivered. “I want to wait here for word.” She glanced around. “Is Ash with her?”

“Yes. He'll phone us from the hospital.” She'd grown to appreciate Dave's soothing voice.

The back door opened, and Chip walked in. His flushed face revealed his concern. “I heard the news from one of the agents. Any updates?”

“Nothing yet.” Bob shook his hand. “We appreciate your concern.”

Had the agents begun to believe in his innocence?

“I figured she'd gone solo.” Chip's gaze softened. “Lindsay, you okay?”

She nodded. “It's my fault, and I know it.”

He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. “It's Meghan's and these agents' job to protect you. Don't blame yourself.”

“I lied to get your car.”

“It's okay. I understand, and given the same circumstances, I'd have done the same.”

“If I hadn't angered the wrong people, none of this would have happened. First the bombing, then Wade, and now Meghan. Why can't the cops or the Secret Service or someone find these guys?” She knew the answer.
Tell them. . . . Tell them. . . .

But no one would believe the vice president of the United States murdered people. Meghan tried to help, and look what happened. They'd be after Ash, too.

Chip had been with both agents tonight, but she had no idea for how long. “Ash shouldn't be alone at the hospital.”

“The sheriff's with him. I stopped in to tell you that I'm heading there now. Someone needs to be with Ash.” He threw his attention at Victor.

“Sounds like a great idea, since none of us can leave. Sorry about your car.”

“It can be replaced. And thanks. I'm leaving in the next few minutes.” He took Lindsay's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know you can't take calls, but I'll be thinking about you.”

Lindsay saw in the depths of his green eyes what she'd never seen in a man before. It both welcomed and frightened her. “Meghan and Ash are Christians. They'd want us to pray for them.”

Chip held her hands. “Sounds like an Ethan Leonard quote. I don't have a direct line to God, but we can try.”