Bridal Falls Ranch Ransom (2 page)

Chapter Two

Eight months later....

J.P. Ryker stared at the west-central Idaho landscape from the helicopter window and followed the direction of pilot Henry Brashear’s finger point.

“There it is,” he said, his voice coming in loud and clear over the bulky headset J.P. wore to drown out the drone of the rotor blades.

“The Bridal Falls Ranch. Homesteaded in 1890 by Miss Brooks’s great-grandparents, Parnell and Evelyn Brooks.”

“Frilly name for such a rugged place,” he said into the mouthpiece as he sized the mountain peaks jousting for the sky.

“It’s named after the landmark Evelyn Brooks discovered.”

“A waterfall?”

“Yes.” He let out an audible breath. “The prettiest veil of water on the entire mountain, according to every hardy Brooks woman who has ever horse-backed in for a look. There wasn’t a Brooks man willing to argue the observation.”

“So the name stuck?”

“Yeah.”

The pilot squeezed the aircraft through a gap between two epic mountains and dropped a thousand feet in elevation.

“How often do you fly in?”

“Twice a month, but I’m on permanent standby at the airport hangar in town whenever Miss Brooks requires my services.”

Eve Brooks, one of those hardy Brooks women the pilot had spoken of, was his newest client. Too bad he didn’t know any more about her situation now than he had a week ago when she’d contacted his L.A. security firm on a referral from a former client.

Only a face-to-face meeting with her was going to answer the myriad of questions he had and fatten the nearly empty case file tucked in his duffel bag.

It was a sorry start to an investigation: several publicity photos he’d pulled off the internet of the drop-dead gorgeous former model turned wedding gown designer to the stars, who dropped from sight six months ago like a stone in a pond, and a hard copy of a brief press release from her PR rep, stating that Eve had been injured in a minor accident and would be recovering at an undisclosed location. Hell, that could amount to a broken fingernail, based on the lack of specific detail in the release. But he had a hunch it had more to do with her admission to him that she’d been targeted by a kidnapper.

“Any other routes into this place?” he asked, studying the ranch’s layout deep in the valley below, surrounded by pastures of lush green grass and a sentry of mountains that peaked just below a layer of high, thin clouds brushing across the open sky.

“Four-wheel drive if you take the road to Yellow Pine. It’s rough, but doable unless we get a heavy thunderstorm. The highway in the other direction toward Cascade is paved but as twisted as a lasso on a steer.”

J.P. gritted his teeth and focused on the sprawling ranch below, taking a degree of comfort in its remote location. Isolation could give him the upper hand when it came to protecting Eve Brooks.

“How long have you worked for her?”

“Almost six months, but I was on staff here before her father died four years ago. I have to admit, it feels good to be working for a Brooks again.”

He glanced over at the smile of satisfaction on the pilot’s face.
In the saddle again
crossed his mind when he thought of the passel of cowboy clothes zipped up in his duffel bag. He was going in undercover as the newest hire on the working cattle ranch. Eve Brooks needed a bodyguard and someone to investigate the threats being made against her.

“What do you think of Miss Brooks? How is she to talk to? Work for?” He cast a sideways glance at the man behind the controls of the chopper and watched his grin fade.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a real conversation with Miss Brooks since her daddy’s funeral.” The pilot started his approach, aiming for a square of concrete west of a two-story log lodge and a massive barn painted in a shade of brick red. “Nobody but her personal assistant, Edith, gets face time with her. She’s effectively closed herself off from everyone, including me.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, but rumor has it, she was in some sort of accident. But her need for isolation just doesn’t make any sense to me. She’s a sweet woman, a pretty little thing too, with a smile that could make the sun rise early. I always enjoyed her and her family. Bottom line, son, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

The pilot eased the helicopter down onto the landing pad.

“Good luck,” Henry said into his mouthpiece.

J.P. nodded, shed his headset and shook the man’s hand.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the floor in front of his seat and climbed out of the aircraft.

From the edge of the landing site he slapped a hand on his Stetson and watched the chopper lift off, gain altitude, hover for a moment and head off in the direction they’d come.

The sensation of being watched walked across the back of his neck before the dust from the rotors had time to settle. Turning, he stared at the lodge from underneath the brim of his hat and caught a flicker of movement in the frame of an upstairs window, seeing the blinds snap shut.

The mysterious Eve Brooks?

“J.P. Ryker?”

He glanced sideways at the man who approached him with an outstretched hand. “Yes, sir.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Devon Hall, ranch foreman. Miss Brooks said Henry would be flying you in this morning.”

“Did she tell you why I’m here?”

Devon Hall pulled off his hat and whacked it against his jeans-clad thigh a couple of times, beating a puff of dust out of it before he set it back on his head.

“Yeah. I’ve kept my mouth shut around the crew in case one of them is involved, but they’re a heck of a good bunch of men, Mr. Ryker. In my opinion, she’s barking up the wrong tree.”

“Has she said as much to you?”

“No. But this is a quiet place. The hardworking folks around here are salt of the earth. They mind their own business and help their neighbors. If anyone is causing trouble, they’d be the first to call him out.”

Devon Hall. Friend or foe, he didn’t know, but everyone on the Bridal Falls Ranch was suspect until he knew better.

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Miss Brooks is waiting for you over in the main lodge. After you visit, come on up to the ranch office.” Devon pointed to a row of low-slung buildings shaded in a cluster of pine trees a hundred yards due west.

“I’ll get you settled in one of the private bunkhouse rooms with Wi-Fi and a landline. Did you bring a laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Devon studied him for a moment then frowned. “I’m gonna need that hat.”

“My hat?” It was a strange request.

“It’s got city all over it, but I’ve got a remedy.”

Reaching up, he took off the black Stetson that had set him back two hundred bucks and handed it to the ranch foreman. “Keep it clean, will ya?”

The foreman tucked his chin, but not before he saw a hint of a smirk on the man’s sun-baked face. It quickly vanished under the slope of his hat brim.

“Better get moving. Miss Brooks knows you’re here and she doesn’t like to wait.” Devon walked away.

He watched the foreman head straight for a corral of nervous horses, probably still riled up by the helicopter’s descent on their peaceful May morning.

Turning, he aimed for the lodge. Did he really have city written all over him? He’d been raised in a small town and ridden his share of horses before he’d relocated to Los Angeles just out of college and Quantico, where he’d worked for the FBI’s hostage tactical unit up until he’d resigned two years ago.

Yeah, maybe he did have city all over him, but he wasn’t sure how giving his hat to the foreman of the ranch was going to remedy that.

The slap of a screen door brought his chin up. He studied the woman standing on the porch in front of him.

“Mr. Ryker, I’m Edith Weber, Miss Brooks’s personal assistant. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you up to speak with her.”

“Thanks.” He followed the middle-aged woman through the open door and let the screen pop shut behind him.

“You can leave your bag next to the door if you like.”

He paused in the entrance long enough to scope out the inside of the lodge and put his duffel bag down.

“The ranch hands and staff take their meals in the dining room.” She motioned to a massive table surrounded by a dozen high-backed chairs.

“Breakfast is served at seven a.m., lunch at noon unless the crew is out working cattle, and dinner is at six p.m. on the dot. The washrooms are just inside the back door where we came in. Miss Brooks expects everyone to be clean and respectful.”

“Miss Brooks runs a tight ship.”

“Yes, she does.” Edith turned away from him and headed for a closed door to the left of the living room, dominated by a massive river-rock fireplace.

“Does Miss Brooks take her meals with the crew?”

Edith’s steps faltered slightly, a brief hesitation the average observer would have missed, but he homed in on it, watching the woman’s shoulders stiffen and her head droop forward for a moment.

“No, sir. Miss Brooks takes her meals upstairs.”

Curiosity scraped across his nerves, but he planned to save his questions for Eve Brooks. That restraint nearly fizzled when Edith put a skeleton key in the lock of the door and turned it.

“You keep her locked up?”

“It’s not to keep her in, Mr. Ryker. It’s to keep others out.”

J.P. gritted his teeth, more determined than before to find out what was going on. He knew Eve Brooks wasn’t a monster. He’d spoken with her on the phone. In fact, he still hadn’t been able to get the sweet sound of her voice out of his head. But finding her sequestered like a beauty locked in a tower? He didn’t know what to think; he only knew he didn’t believe in fairy tales.

Edith pulled the door open and stepped back. “She’s waiting for you. Go into the first room on the right at the top of the stairway. There’s a chair next to the screened wall. Have a seat. She’ll speak with you there.”

He searched the woman’s face for a clue to her emotions, but she gave him a bland smile and closed the door behind him.

The clatter of the key in the lock heightened his level of caution and pushed him up the stairs two at a time until he reached the landing.

What sort of freak show were they headlining at Bridal Falls Ranch? he wondered.

But it didn’t matter. He already had a ticket....

* * *

E
ve rubbed her bare
arms with her hands, trying to dispel the tension buzzing in every one of her nerve endings, but the sound of J.P. Ryker’s boots against the hardwood floor only compounded the problem.

She’d watched him climb out of the chopper, wishing her friend Tina Davis, who’d used his agency’s services as a bodyguard once, had bothered to forewarn her. The last thing she needed on the ranch was a six-foot-plus, lethal male looker working her case, but that’s exactly what she had, and like it or not, he was here now.

The door hinges squawked. Eve froze in her tracks behind the screen wall. She pulled in a deep calming breath, then another, just as her therapist had taught her to do, until she felt the effect take control of her mind and body.

It didn’t matter how good-looking Ryker was. She’d been pursued by dozens of men better looking than him. He was here to protect her and stop the kidnapper who’d reentered her life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She swallowed hard and took a step forward, trying to gauge his location in the adjacent room.

“Mr. Ryker, I’m Eve Brooks. Welcome to Bridal Falls Ranch. I trust you had a good trip?”

J.P. stared at the nonrigid wall separating him from the same sweet voice he’d heard over the phone line less than a week ago. “Yes, I did.” He leaned closer, working to pick up her movements through the dense fabric stretched taut between them.

“If it will help, I’ll turn on the backlight.”

The click of a switch instantly filled the room she was in with illumination.

He stepped back, staring at the silhouette outlined against the fabric. “Damn.”

“Speculate if you like. I have my reasons, but I didn’t hire you to question my need for absolute privacy.”

J.P. listened to her as he traced her curves with his gaze.

“I hired you because the kidnapper who took my fiancé, Thomas Avery, has resurfaced.”

“Did he collect the original ransom?”

“No.” Her voice broke. “He left my half a million dollars right where he told me to bury it in the California desert. The local sheriff dug it up a week later and returned it to me in the hospital.”

“And you believe the kidnapper intends to try and collect it now?”

“Yes.”

“Did Mr. Avery survive his ordeal?”

“He was found, barely alive, chained in a storm drain along the Pacific Coast Highway. Another day and he wouldn’t have survived.”

“Who compromised the money drop?” he asked, listening to her sharp intake of breath. He watched her turn slightly and bow her head.

Concern overrode his senses and roped his emotions, gathering them in a tight knot. He knew what she was feeling; he’d been in the same spot dozens of times.

“You believe you did?”

“I know I did,” she whispered.

“Guilt is a lethal adversary. It’ll eat you alive. Take it from me, kidnapping situations can spin out of control in a heartbeat. It’s no one’s fault—”

“Spare me the psychobabble, Mr. Ryker. I get that from my therapist. I want you to catch the bastard.”

He sobered, watching her turn and move up next to the screen less than a foot from where he stood. The impression of her palm pressing against the fabric wall surprised him.

Instinctively he reached out to her, melding his open hand to hers.

Heat passed between them. A spark he couldn’t explain, or deny. “I’ll do everything in my power to stop him, but I need to know the details.”

She pulled her hand back as if the contact suddenly burned. “I’ve received two phone calls from him here at the ranch.”

“I’ll put a wiretap on your landline. If he calls again we can record him.”

Her feet shuffled against the floor on the other side. He watched her shadow ripple back and forth across the screen.

“Three weeks ago, I got the first call. He demanded that I bring the money to L.A. and leave it in the same damn hole in the desert. I told him to go to hell and hung up.”