Authors: Sharon Sala
King's Ransom (15 page)
Shockey hurried
toward the front of the house, intent on getting back to headquarters. He had
to notify McCandless about this new twist. The LeBeau woman could still be in
danger. The kidnappers might try again.
A small boy on a bicycle
was riding in and out among the parked police cars, obviously lost in a game of
make-believe, imitating the sound of a siren, pedaling furiously in a fantasy
chase.
"Hey,
kid," Shockey called. "You better get on home. This is not a safe
place for you to play."
"I'm gonna
be a cop when I grow up," he announced, as Shockey started to get in his
car.
"That
right?" Shockey asked, and looked again at the serious expression on the
skinny little kid who was watching his every move.
"Yeah!"
he cried. "You got a badge? Can I see it?"
"Yeah, sure,
kid," Shockey agreed, and pulled the folded piece of well-worn leather
from his pocket. It wasn't often he ran across a kid who liked cops. Usually
it was just the opposite. He couldn't resist doing a little public relations
work.
"Boy!"
the kid whispered, as he ran a dirty little finger over the shiny metal shield
with Shockey's identification number on it. "I told the sheriff down the
driveway I was going to be a cop, but he didn't have no badge. Not like this he
didn't."
"What
sheriff, son? Why did you think he was a sheriff?" Something made Shockey
pursue this odd little kid's rambling story further.
"Well, he
was coming up here before he nearly ran me over . . ."He looked up
cautiously, suddenly afraid that it would come out that he hadn't looked before
he darted through the thick undergrowth. But nothing was said to correct him,
and so he continued his story, tracing every curve and ridge in the silver
badge as he talked. "And, I knew he was a sheriff cause he had a big hat
like the ones on television."
Shockey's eyes
narrowed.
Nothing
odd in that,
he cautioned himself. "Go on," he urged the kid.
"Well, I
told him you guys was already up here,
and I guess he
decided to leave, cause he rolled his car window up and drove away. That's
all."
"What did he
look like?" Shockey persisted. Something told him if he'd arrived thirty
minutes later this morning, they might all have been saved further
investigation.
"I don't
know. Just a cowboy. I got to go now," he said, and reluctantly handed
back the badge.
Shockey watched
the kid leave, pedaling furiously as he darted between two of the parked black
and whites.
Cowboy? What would Wiley Lynch be doing hanging out with a
cowboy?
He set the
thought aside for the time being and hurried to his car. He had to make that
phone call to
SEVEN
"Where's
Maggie?" Jesse asked breathlessly as she dashed through the kitchen door
into the house.
King looked up and
tried not to glare at Jesse's exuberance. Her hair was windblown, the black
and white polka-dot tank top she was wearing was half in and half out of the
tightest pair of blue jeans he'd ever seen anybody wear and breathe in at the
same time. And, to make matters worse, she was barefoot.
"Where are
your shoes?" he shouted, and then took a deep breath along with a calming
gulp of lukewarm coffee.
He'd been
dawdling over breakfast for half an hour, waiting for Jesse to appear, and then
she came through the door like a
"My shoes
are on the porch," she answered calmly. "They're dirty. I didn't want
to track up the floor. Where's Maggie?" she repeated, refusing to let
King's bad mood spoil the most perfect morning she'd had in years.
"In her
room," King answered reluctantly, and felt his gut kick at the backside
view of Jesse in those jeans, as she dashed through the kitchen toward Maggie's
private rooms.
Jesse knocked
once and then let herself in as she called out, "It's me."
"Come in,
sweetheart," Maggie answered, as she came from the bathroom where she'd
obviously been putting the finishing touches on hair and make-up. Her short,
ample figure was corseted and bound with determination. Her long, gray braid
was set higher on her head than usual, and her little round face was lightly
decorated with blush and lipstick. She looked like an aging cherub. She also
looked adorable.
Today was Friday.
It was double coupon day at her favorite supermarket and she had a grocery list
a mile long.
"Would you
mind picking up my birth control pills?" Jesse asked, as she pulled a
piece of paper from the pocket of her shirt. She'd been using them for years to
correct a very painful and irregular period. "I called my doctor in
said he'd call in a prescription at this pharmacy." She handed the paper
to Maggie.
"You still
have to take these?" Maggie asked, and looked sharply at the expression on
Jesse's face. She'd always known about Jesse's problem. She'd hoped time would
correct it. Obviously it had not.
"Yep,"
Jesse grinned, leaned over and kissed Maggie's frown. "But don't worry.
They haven't made a scarlet woman of me yet."
Jesse laughed at
the horrified expression on Maggie's face, and then suddenly they were both
chuckling loudly.
King heard, the
laughter and felt an awful twinge of jealously. He couldn't make Jesse laugh.
He hadn't even been able to make her smile since they'd come home. If anything,
he'd only made matters worse. He was tired, miserable, and worried, and knew he
couldn't take many more nights like last night. He hadn't slept a wink, knowing
Jesse was across the hall. He'd thought all night long of Jesse and her
statement that
couldn't get past the thoughts that jeered at his conscience during the long
hours until dawn. Why did he care who went to see Jesse? He had made no effort
to be one of the visitors. He had simply let time and Jesse slip through his
fingers. He heard the women coming from Maggie's room, and yanked a piece of
newspaper up in front of him.
Maggie rummaged
through her purse, checking for all the necessary lists and coupons, then waved
a casual goodbye in Jesse's direction before hurrying out the door. It was
obvious Maggie was going to make a day of her trip to
Silence filled
the kitchen, and Jesse debated with herself about trying to talk to an
obviously disgruntled man. She wisely decided to keep her own counsel, and
started back outside to retrieve her boots and get on with her plans for the
day when something odd about King's newspaper caught her eye. Without saying a
word, she walked over to King, gently peeking over the wall of newsprint he'd
erected between them. Ignoring the furious glare he shot her way, she
carefully took the paper, turned it over until it was right side up, handed it
back, and watched with glee as a dark red flush crept up past the neck of his
brown, plaid work shirt.
"Do you mind
if I ride Tariq?" she asked.
King slammed the
useless paper down on the kitchen table and stood with a jerk. He leaned over
until they were practically nose to nose and growled.
"Looks to me
like you already did."
Jesse shrugged
self-consciously, knowing Tariq was King's favorite, and the one he usually
chose to ride when out on the range. He was a large, white, spirited Arabian
with an easy gait and Jesse preferred him to several of the smaller, more
highly strung horses.
"Do you
care?" she persisted, and tried to forget how angry King could get if
pushed too far.
"Obviously
what I think matters damn little to you, Jesse Rose. Do what you want . . . you
always do." Then before she disappeared completely, he couldn't stop
himself from grabbing her hands and turning the palms up for a careful
inspection.
They looked
healed. He knew they were getting stronger and stronger each day, by the amount
of use she gave them, but his Arabian stallion was a big, high-spirited mount.
He wasn't sure her grip was strong enough to handle him. He sighed, reluctantly
dropped her hands, and looked up, unable to decipher the odd, almost expectant
expression on her face.
"Be
careful," he warned, and was saved from making a complete fool of himself
by the phone's ring.
Jesse bolted out
the door, grabbing her boots on the run.
By the time King
hung up the phone and hurried toward the corrals, Jesse was long gone toward
the big, shady pond more than half a mile away.
"Turner,"
King shouted, as he neared the corrals, new fear mixing with the old at what
he'd just learned.
The phone call
had been from
King still had trouble assimilating Shockey's news. Kidnap Jesse? What in the
world would someone hope to gain? She wasn't
that
wealthy. Almost
everything she'd inherited was invested in a way that would take months, even
years, to liquidate. She didn't
have
half a million
dollars. And she had no family. Who would a kidnapper think was going to pay
the ransom?
Then King
stopped. He turned slowly as a terrible possibility entered his mind. He looked
around at the land with new vision—McCandless land that went for miles and
miles, the more than comfortable ranch house, the millions of dollars invested
in the Arabians, the cattle, oil interests—and he knew who the kidnappers had
targeted. It was King that would have come up with the money, and easily enough
at that. The kidnappers had to know he would give everything he owned if it
meant Jesse's well-being.
King shuddered,
wiped a shaky hand across his eyes, and swallowed hard, pushing back the nausea
that boiled inside him. Jesse was to have been the victim, but it was King's
ransom they were after.
"Turner!"
he called again, and breathed a sigh of relief as the older man came hobbling
through the doorway of the hay barn. Turner waved at King, indicating his
whereabouts.
"In
here," he called, and waited as King came running.
"Jesse,"
he asked quickly. "Where?"
"Didn't
say," Turner replied, and then frowned at the worried expression on his
boss's face. "What's wrong?" he asked. "She'll be okay. That horse
loves her . . . always did. He ain't gonna hurt Jesse."
"The
police," King muttered, pointing toward the house.
He was back in
McCandless shorthand, but Will Turner was more than used to it. This was the second-generation
of McCandlesses he'd worked for.
"What about
the police?" he asked, and led the way back inside, out of the hot sun and
wind.
"Just
called. Wasn't attempted murder. Jesse stopped a kidnap attempt. They also didn't
get the son of a bitch. He's still out there."
"Well, I'll
be," Turner muttered. "This does put a different light on things,
don't it, boy? Well, now. I'm sure she can go for a horse ride here on the
ranch and come to no outside harm."
King started to
argue, but Turner's slow drawl and common sense were beginning to calm the fear
and rage boiling inside.
"King,"
Turner continued. "Jesse went that direction." He pointed toward the
hills, away from the roads and ranch house. "And the only way to get to
Jesse there is to come through here. That is unless they come by helicopter,
and it don't sound to me like them kidnappers is that smart. Just look what
one little girl did to their plans. What do you say?" He waited for King's
reply, and then added with a rueful pat on King's back, "I'll send one of
the boys after her right now, if you think best. I know what she means to you
...
to all of us. But I also know how bad
this has been on her. First time I seen her really smile since she's been here
was this morning when she got on that horse."
King paced
between Turner and the barn door several times before jamming his hands in his
pockets in frustration.