Bridal Falls Ranch Ransom (4 page)

Stumbling forward in the dark, he tried to compensate for the brutal impact, feeling a trickle of blood zigzag down the back of his neck.

Dazed, he spun around, prepared to charge the dark silhouette to the left of the open door.

“You SOB,” he whispered, feeling the room gyrate around him.

He took a shaky step toward the intruder, determined to stop him, determined to discover his identity in the middle of the fracas.

His knees buckled.

He fought to stay on his feet, to maintain his stance, but it was hopeless. He stepped forward and fell, hitting the floor like a stone.

The world went black, but not before he heard the scuff of a single pair of boots against the hardwood floor.

His assailant was a cowboy. A cowboy who most likely rode for the Bridal Falls Ranch.

Chapter Four

J.P. came to with a shaft of sunlight knifing into his eyes through the open door. His body hurt as if a herd of wild mustangs had trampled him during the night. His head throbbed in unison with his galloping heartbeat.

He eased up into a sitting position and scanned the interior of the bunkhouse. The place had been ransacked, probably while he’d been hot on the trail of Eve Brooks last night, believing she was a thief about to raid the sperm bank. His right elbow brushed against his holster. Tension sliced across his nerves. He reached back to finger the holster still clipped to his belt. His Glock was gone.

Staring at the mattress, he crawled to the bed and slid his hand between it and the box spring.

In the gap his fingers came in contact with the spare pistol he’d brought along, a .41 Magnum. He dragged himself to his feet and willed away a wave of concern. The assailant had gotten the jump on him and used one big club on the back of his head. So why hadn’t he finished him off when he had the chance?

“J.P. Buddy?” A long low whistle hissed from between Devon Hall’s lips as the ranch foreman stepped into the room. “I got to wondering about you when you didn’t show for breakfast. What the hell happened in here?”

Following Devon’s line of sight, he stared at the desk, where he’d set up a makeshift office. The contents of his files lay scattered on the floor, but it was his trashed laptop lying upside down that worried him the most. Someone had removed the hard drive and with it everything he knew about Eve Brooks and her case.

“Someone jumped me last night. They were looking for something. I’d guess they found it. Did you hear anything?” he asked as he ran his hand over the back of his head, fingering the blood-matted hair caked over a knot.

“I heard Miss Brooks ride out around one, but I don’t recall hearing much after that, seeing as I was holding a royal flush in my hand and counting the entire crew’s chips in my head.”

“The whole crew was playing poker?”

“Yeah.”

So every cowpoke on the ranch had an alibi along with their empty pockets, but he was more curious about Devon’s revelation.

“Does Miss Brooks ride every night?” He conjured the image of her lanky body pressed against him in the darkness.

“Nope. Two or three times a week at the most. Some nights she just sits out on the front porch of the lodge in the dark. It’s peculiar, but I just work for her and keep my mouth shut. I figure this here’s her spread, she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants.”

“I’m going to need those employee files again, but in hard copy this time.”

“No problem. I’ll print them off this morning.”

Unable to resist any longer, he eased himself down on the corner of the bed. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“It’ll take a couple of hours for him to get here, but I can have Doc Morton drive out to take a look at you.”

“I’ll live.”

Devon Hall took a couple of steps and paused on the threshold between the room and the porch. “Charlene saved you some breakfast.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there after I get cleaned up.” He watched the ranch foreman take the steps and turn to the right, probably headed for his office. His stare fell on the white, veil-draped hat lying on the floor next to the door.

Pushing up from the edge of the bed, he stepped to the door and pushed it closed. Something was going on, and apparently Eve wasn’t the only one in danger once he started digging around at the Bridal Falls Ranch.

Reaching down, he scooped up the white hat from the floor. He needed to know what sort of accident had botched the money drop in California, and if Eve Brooks’s odd behavior was tied to the answer.

* * *

E
ve stared through
a narrow opening in the blinds, watching J.P. Ryker’s deliberate strides toward the lodge. There was no doubt in her mind, judging by the determined way he carried himself, he was on a mission.

He was going to want specifics from her that she’d yet to give him. That fact and the sight of her white hat grasped in his hand warned of an impending showdown.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and pushed back against the rise of nerves pricking her insides. With a simple wave of her hand, she’d been able to avoid the hard questions. That and the amount of money she’d spent to disappear, to dig her way underground and as far away from the world she’d known as she could possibly get, without being six feet under. But that approach wasn’t going to work with him.

Reaching up, she touched the left side of her face with her hand and willed her trembling fingers to still on the swath of skin grafts that started on her cheekbone and ran all the way down the side of her neck and across the top of her shoulder.

She hadn’t come to grips with this yet, and she didn’t expect anyone else to either. So when J.P. arrived to question her, she’d ask him to leave. To go back to Los Angeles and forget he’d ever agreed to take her case. She would find another bodyguard to help her. Someone who didn’t need every gritty detail.

Letting the shade snap shut, she turned for her room behind the screen. Could she let the kidnapper come after her? If so, she hoped he’d kill her quickly when she refused to give him the money. It couldn’t be any worse than the slow death she was living now.

* * *

J.P.
slowed his march
, watching a white cargo van pull into the ranch driveway and roll to a stop. High-Country Delivery was painted on the driver’s side door in bold black letters. The company logo of snow-capped mountains peaked just under the banner.

The driver climbed out, went around to the back of the van, opened the cargo doors and retrieved a package. Glancing up he spotted J.P. from under the brim of his ball cap with the same company logo stitched across the bill.

“Good morning,” he said, juggling his clipboard and the plain brown cardboard box. “I’ve got a parcel for Eve Brooks.”

“I’m headed in to speak with her right now. I’ll take it.”

“Sign here.” He handed J.P. the clipboard.

He scribbled his signature and exchanged the clipboard for the parcel. “Thanks.”

The man nodded and climbed back into his vehicle, fired the engine and pulled around the circle drive.

Stowing the box under his arm, he continued toward the lodge, mulling the questions he had for Eve.

The pop of the screen door brought his head up.

Edith Weber came down the steps. “Mr. Ryker, thanks for signing for that.”

“No problem.” He handed it off to her and fell in behind her as she went inside the lodge.

“Miss Brooks is waiting for you upstairs. I’ll take her hat.” She gestured to it.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it.”

She nodded, but the color vanished from her cheeks before she turned for the kitchen with the box in hand. What did she know that he didn’t? Frustration tightened the muscles between his shoulder blades as he pivoted and headed for the door leading upstairs.

Pulling the skeleton key out of his pocket, he fit it into the lock. In a matter of minutes he was up the stairs and stepping into the partitioned room. Only then did he allow anticipation to seep out into his bloodstream.

“Eve. Are you here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got your hat. I found it after our encounter last night in the barn. I’d like to give it back to you.” He rolled the brim with his fingertips.

“You can leave it in the room.” Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact, but he focused on the slightest hint of regret, as if she’d somehow given up.

“You should have told me you like to ride at night. Next time I won’t run you down thinking you’re a thug.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time, J.P.”

He focused on the screen, trying to pick out her place in the room behind it, but she stood perfectly still. Stepping forward he got closer, close enough to hear her pull in a long inhale and let it out slowly.

“I’ve decided I can handle this myself—”

“If you think being sequestered in this room behind a damn curtain is going to keep him from getting to you, you’re fooling yourself. If he can’t physically touch you here, he’ll touch someone you love with as much brutality as he can unleash.”

An earthquake of emotion rocked Eve’s insides and penetrated her thoughts like a bullet through a target. She knew he was right. Knew it without having to analyze it. What if this stranger went after Thomas again? Or her mother? Or her stepfather, Simon? Hadn’t they already suffered enough living through Shelly’s kidnapping and murder, finding her lifeless body dumped outside the gate of their estate like a bag of garbage?

Hot tears singed the back of her eyelids. She blinked them away, feeling the first tick of a panic attack zing across her chest. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. Then another.

“I’m sorry to be so blunt with you. I just want you to know what you could be letting yourself in for.”

Closing her eyes, she mentally took cover behind her lids. J.P. was right. She’d be an idiot to think she could take on this maniac all by herself. She needed him now more than ever.

“Come back in an hour.” She had to hide for a while, reconstitute her grit. Then she’d go toe-to-toe with him to come up with a strategy. Something that never involved him seeing her face, or what was left of it.

She opened her eyes and focused on the screen between them. “Then we’ll put together a plan of action. Hire more security to stand guard 24/7 if necessary.”

“It’s too late for that,” he whispered.

Fear skidded across her nerve endings, leaving them raw. “You believe he’s already here?”

“While I was following your movements last night thinking you might be a thief or the kidnapper, someone ransacked my room, stole the hard drive out of my laptop, knocked me unconscious and stole the Glock from my holster.”

Panic tightened her throat. “Someone on my crew?”

“I know for sure he was wearing cowboy boots. Devon emailed me the employee files on every man in the crew. That information took a hike along with my hard drive. He could be trying to cover up his background information. I’ll have to go over the files in hard copy and run my investigation over the landline.”

“I have a computer in my studio. If it’ll expedite the process, you’re welcome to use it.”

“Eve?” The sound of Edith’s voice echoed up the stairwell, followed by her solid footsteps on the wood. “You have a package, dear...could be in regards to Amanda Blackburn’s wedding gown. I know you’ve been waiting for it to arrive from L.A. I haven’t opened the box yet—” Edith stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced sideways, making eye contact with him.

J.P. sobered, irritated by the interrupted progress he felt he was making with Eve.

“Oh. Excuse me, Mr. Ryker. I thought you’d already left.” Her gaze settled on the hat he still held in his hand before lifting to his face.

“I’ll just go into the studio and open this for Miss Brooks.” She indicated the parcel in her hand, then turned for the door at the end of the hallway.

J.P. stared after her, getting a quick view of the studio just before she closed the door behind her.

“I might take you up on your offer to use the computer, but first we have to come to an understanding.” He waited for a reply, less than satisfied when she didn’t immediately speak.

“You want to know why I was wearing that hat last night, don’t you?”

“I want to know why you think you have to wear it. Why you hide up here and what in the hell it has to do, if anything, with the botched money drop? Because it all seems to start there.” If he listened close enough, he swore he could hear her heartbeat amp up. “What happened to you, Eve?”

A soft moan whispered through the fabric separating them, making him want to retract the question, but he stood firm. He was determined to coax every detail out of her. Overlooked details could get them both killed.

She was on the move now, her footsteps scuffing against the floor, tracing a back-and-forth pattern behind the screen. Why was this so difficult for her? Guilt? Maybe. Outrage that Thomas almost lost his life because of some perceived mistake she’d made?

If so, what was it?

“I almost died that night,” she whispered, pulling in an audible breath as if she were trying to suck in courage along with oxygen.

“If a semi hadn’t been driving past the drop site when the pipe bomb went off...I would have bled out on the side of the highway.”

“The kidnapper tried to kill you with an explosion?” Frustration hissed through J.P.’s veins, tempting him to rip down the wall separating them so he could take her in his arms.

“No. I was simply in the right place at the wrong time. It wasn’t the first time a bomb had been planted at that remote call box.”

“How bad?” he asked, remembering a segment from his FBI training dealing with blast injuries.

“Three weeks in ICU. Another month with my jaw wired shut, rehabilitation on my left shoulder and plastic surgery on my...” Her words trailed off, leaving him hanging.

Face?

“The county sheriff was able to connect the blast that injured me to four others in a countywide area linked to some anarchist student group.”

“I’m sorry, Eve. I had no idea.”

“No one does. My PR rep was able to keep the worst of my medical information out of the press, and I plan to keep it that way.”

Anger boiled up inside of him. He wanted the bastards who’d placed the pipe bomb now, almost as much as he wanted the kidnapper who’d picked the location for the money drop. Right now, he had neither. There was only the woman on the other side of the screen who needed his protection.

“We’ll stop him this time, Eve.” Reaching out, he pressed his open hand against the fabric. “I promise.”

Heat arched between them even before he felt her palm meet his. “Maybe the thug who clocked me last night wasn’t the kidnapper. Maybe he was trying to find out if I had information about the missing cryogenic cylinders. He could be behind the bull semen thefts Devon told me about.”

The uncoupling of their palms was accompanied by the trill of nervous laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you. I took the cylinders before I hired you. I needed a seemingly legitimate reason to bring you on board in a policing capacity that Devon would believe. No one on the ranch except Edith knows about Thomas’s kidnapping, how I was injured or that the kidnapper has made contact with me again.”