Bridal Falls Ranch Ransom (3 page)

He grinned, glad she couldn’t see him. The woman had spunk, he’d give her that. “Did you recognize his voice when he called here? Was he the same man you spoke with the first time around?”

“I can’t be certain.”

“What do you mean?”

“His voice was altered.”

“So you believe he used a device to disguise it?”

“Yeah, I guess he must have.”

“Those gadgets are a dime a dozen on the internet. For sixty bucks you can sound like Mickey Mouse if you want to.”

Concern looped around him. It was common practice for an intelligent kidnapper to alter his voice in order to forgo the risk of identification through voice recognition if he was eventually caught and prosecuted.

“What about his second call?”

“Same voice, but my assistant, Edith, took the call while I listened in. He wants the money brought to the same location, and this time he threatened to hurt me. Cut me up, he said, if I don’t give him the money in the next two weeks. He claimed he’d come to the ranch and make my life miserable until I pay.”

“You didn’t call the authorities or the FBI?”

“No. I don’t trust them....” Her voice faltered, its lilt hinting at a measure of regret. “I didn’t trust them to get Thomas back alive then, and I don’t trust them now.”

He opened his mouth to defend his former employer, but shut it, remembering the number of times things had gone unpredictably bad on his watch.

“Why wasn’t he able to collect the ransom the first time around?”

She stopped pacing, the hesitation piquing his interest. “An accident brought the local Kern County authorities to the location of the money drop. The kidnapper must have thought it was too risky to try and dig it up with cops everywhere, so he walked away. I’d already been given Thomas’s location. The Malibu police found him right where the kidnapper’s map said he would be.”

“What sort of accident?”

“It’s inconsequential. It had no bearing on the kidnapping.”

Why was she stonewalling? What did she know about that night that she wasn’t telling him?

“The past is the past. I live with it every day. I want you to stop him in the here and now, before he tries to follow through on his threat. Just tell me you’re here to help me.”

There it was again, her palm pressed against the fabric in front of him.

He stepped closer.

Eve Brooks was his client. All she wanted was his assurance he could help her, and protect her and catch the disgruntled kidnapper tormenting her. It was what he’d been hired to do.

Raising his hand, he put his palm to hers, reaffirming the existence of a physical connection emanating from their single point of contact.

“I’m here to help you, Eve, but you have to be honest with me. No detail is too small if it helps me catch him.”

“I understand.” Eve lowered her hand, slower this time, determined to control the heated attraction gliding over her senses.

“There’s an extra skeleton key hanging next to the door at the bottom of the stairs. Take it. We’ll talk again tomorrow morning and you can have access to the lodge’s telephone system so you can install your wiretap. If there’s nothing else, you know your way out.”

She listened to the steady beat of his cowboy boots on the hardwood floor and worked to slow her heartbeat. She didn’t move until he was gone, resisting the urge to split the blinds with her fingertips and take another look at J.P. Ryker.

But some details were better left to her imagination. Besides, he’d take one look at her and run like hell.

Chapter Three

J.P. sat across from Devon Hall and tried not to stare at his desecrated cowboy hat lying like a limp head of lettuce on the desk between them. He could bet it’d been trampled at least once by every horse in the corral, judging by the number of dusty hoof marks all over it.

A lopsided grin pulled on the ranch foreman’s mouth. “You fit in now. That hat was a dead giveaway. My crew would have been on to you faster than a rope on a runaway horse.”

“I appreciate that.” He nodded. “Glad you’re looking out for me, but I want to pick my own mount or I’m likely to end up on last year’s rodeo bronc.”

Devon chuckled. “A sense of humor goes a long way out here, J.P.”

He didn’t doubt it. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“I have an employment file on each of the ranch hands I’ve hired, but no background checks. I suppose you’ll want to take a look at them?”

“It could be helpful. See if anyone on the crew has something to hide.”

Devon shoved a notepad and pen across the desk to him. “Give me your email address and I’ll forward them this afternoon.”

He scribbled the information on the paper, amazed technology had found the Bridal Falls Ranch and its foreman even in such an isolated area. The files would provide him with the stealth needed to investigate each member of the crew from his laptop. He put the pad back on the desk.

“Can I get my BlackBerry to work out here?”

Devon Hall chuckled. “In these parts, J.P., a BlackBerry is something you pick off a bush in late September and ask your momma to put in a pie.”

“Understood. Duties?” he asked, snagging his crumpled hat off the desk and molding it back into shape with his hands.

“Miss Brooks wants you close to the main lodge, so you’ll be here on the homestead.”

“Won’t the other ranch hands wonder why I’m not in the saddle?”

“Maybe, but I’ll handle them. You’ve got a couple of weeks before they start asking questions.”

“With any luck, I’ll have this case wrapped up by then.” He stared at Devon, wondering how much Eve had told him about being harassed by a kidnapper. “What exactly did Miss Brooks say I’d be doing on the ranch?”

“To the crew, you’re another hired hand, but Miss Brooks told me you’re here to find out who’s stealing semen from our Brahman bull breeding program. It’s used in artificial insemination and frozen in liquid nitrogen. Someone took a couple of cylinders three weeks ago. Our prize bull Dust-Up’s genetic material is worth big bucks, and the Bridal Falls could take a substantial financial hit if his offspring show up somewhere else. Miss Brooks wants the culprit found ASAP.”

He gritted his teeth and nodded. It was an interesting cover he’d never expected to be wearing.
Sperm theft investigator?

“Could be in excess of a million dollars once the stolen lineage is established and the young bulls are used in their own breeding programs.”

“Is there any way the culprit could be a threat to Miss Brooks’s safety?”

“It’s possible, if she were to catch him in the act. Don’t know how he’d respond.”

Devon’s answer didn’t sit well in the back of his mind. It added another level of threat to Eve’s situation. Granted it probably wasn’t as lethal as the kidnapper who’d already threatened to hurt her, but unpredictable nonetheless. He’d have to take it seriously.

“Come on, I’ll get you lined out on your bunkhouse room.”

He followed the foreman out of the office and paused at the distinctive drum of horse hooves striking hard-packed earth and the bellow of cows searching for their calves in the commotion. A pack of horsemen three deep and half a dozen strong wrangled a herd of cattle toward an open gate leading into a massive pasture thigh deep in grass.

“It’s branding season. You’re one of five temporary hires I’ve got coming in this week. We sure could use your help if Miss Brooks is okay with it.”

“Just say the word. I’ve spent some time in the saddle.”

He walked next to Devon Hall, picking out the small cabin he aimed for and analyzing its proximity to everything on the ranch. He’d have an unobstructed view of all the goings-on, the main lodge, the barn and Eve’s upstairs window.

A charge pulsed through him, grounded by the image of her hand pressed against the screen, begging for hope only he could give her. He didn’t know what her reasons were for hiding, but he intended to find out. Until then he would respect her need for anonymity, even if he found it crazy-odd.

“We’ll need you when it comes time to cut the calves out of the herd and drive them into the holding pen. Their mamas get a little aggravated.”

“No problem.” He took the steps behind Devon onto the covered porch, listening to the creak of the wooden stairs under his boot soles. Only the second step offered up a sound. He backtracked onto it to make sure his observation was correct before he stepped onto the landing and walked through the door the foreman had already opened.

“It’s a nice place. Should serve your needs.”

He surveyed the interior of the cabin from the neatly made double bed to the adjoining bath. He put his duffel bag down on the bed. “It’ll suffice.”

Devon nodded. “Step outside. I’ll point out the members of the crew.”

He followed the foreman as he moseyed out onto the porch, where he locked his hands on the railing and pushed his hat back.

Stepping up next to Devon, he eyed the mounted riders pushing the last of the cattle through the gate into the pasture.

“The cowboy on the big bay horse is Tyler Spangler, been at Bridal Falls since before Hank Brooks died.”

“Four years ago?” J.P. asked, clarifying the information he’d gleaned from Henry the chopper pilot.

“Yeah. He was foreman here before Miss Brooks took over the operation and put me in charge.”

“How’d that sit with him, you taking his position?” The pointed question hung in the air between them like a dagger.

Devon’s shoulders tensed but slowly relaxed as he turned toward him. “He was mad as hell. Probably still carrying a grudge, but there wasn’t much he could do to me in a full leg cast. Tyler got busted up pretty bad that year at the Riggins’ Rodeo. He wasn’t in any position to argue with Miss Brooks.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the cowboys. “The man on the paint?”

“Buck Walters, the oldest member of the crew. Solid. Came to work here three years ago. Ruckus Bartlett on that damn leopard Appaloosa he insists on riding, he’s been here for a year and a half. Dave Haney is on the palomino. Another solid guy, been here the same length of time as Buck.”

“Three years?”

“Yeah. The last two pokes on the sorrel quarter horses are Cody and Troy Profit. Idaho cowboys, brothers, both former bull riders. Cody took the PRCA championship buckle in Vegas two years ago, and Troy came home in an ambulance.”

“What happened?”

“Took a bull horn just below his flat-jacket after his qualifying ride. Messed up his insides, but he pulled through. Had to give up the circuit, but we’re glad he’s here.”

“You’re right, Devon. You’ve got a good crew.” Every one of them fit the definition of a cowpoke. Hats, boots and a horse, but he planned to look past the obvious. Did any of them have a record?

The foreman pushed back from the railing. “Lunch is in half an hour. You’ll know it when Charleen starts clanging the dinner bell down at the lodge.” He took the steps and paused at the bottom. “I’ll make proper introductions then.”

“I’ll be there.” J.P. watched the foreman walk away before turning back into the cabin. There was a good mix of wranglers on the Bridal Falls Ranch, he didn’t doubt it. But could one of them be responsible for kidnapping Thomas Avery and threatening Eve Brooks over the unclaimed ransom money?

He wasn’t sure, but he planned to check out each and every one of them as soon as Devon Hall sent him the employee files. In the meantime he’d get to know them at lunch. A handshake could tell a lot about a man. That and the look in his eyes.

* * *

A
lack of noise brought
J.P. up out of bed. Pushing back the covers, he sat up, getting his bearings in the unfamiliar room.

He’d always cussed the drone of traffic in the street below his apartment window in L.A. Now he’d give anything to be lulled to sleep by the revving of a hundred car engines.

It was just too quiet.

He stood up, went to the door, pulled it open and stepped out onto the narrow porch.

A fat yellow moon hung in the night sky almost directly overhead. He stared at the face of his watch in its glow and muffled a curse. Two a.m. Two blasted a.m. Shrugging it off, he pulled in a breath of cool mountain air, tinged with evergreen. He’d survived on less sleep before, and he could do it again.

Somewhere in the distance a whisper of a sound caught and held his attention.

Turning his head slightly, he tried to pick it up for a second time.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop. The steady drum of shod hooves striking the earth, but it shouldn’t surprise him. This was a ranch with lots of horses. Hoofbeats in the night were normal, but these seemed to be coming from north of the main pasture, somewhere along the road into the ranch.

Caution edged through him. He stepped back from the railing, out of the glaring moonlight and into the shadows underneath the overhang.

Picking out the location of the sound, he watched a single mounted rider spurt out of the tree line to the north and maneuver his horse toward the barn. The hat on his head glowed an eerie white in the blaze of moonlight and blotted out the face of its wearer from under its brim.

He didn’t know a single cowboy poke who herded cattle at night. Maybe the lone rider’s presence signaled something more dangerous. Maybe he was here to steal more semen samples from the cryo room in the barn?

J.P. backed through the door at the same time the rider disappeared through the main doors into the barn. He slipped on his jeans, boots and a shirt. Feeling between the mattress and box spring, he pulled out his Glock.

If the thief stealing from Eve Brooks tried to escape, he’d pin him down at gunpoint and turn him over to the local sheriff’s department.

Clipping the holster on his belt, he slipped outside, sticking to the shadows as he ducked from cover to cover, until he reached the barn and squeezed through a narrow opening in the massive doors at the back of the structure.

The rustle of livestock in their stalls went with the dusty smell of sawdust and hay. The interior of the barn was pitch-black and it took an instant for his eyes to adjust as he flattened himself against the wall next to the opening.

Scanning for movement, he picked up a flit of white near the front of the structure, near the insulated room where the stainless steel vat of frozen samples were kept.

He couldn’t let the thug take what didn’t belong to him.

Adrenaline pulsed in his veins. Moving away from the wall, he went straight for the tall thin figure now framed in the doorway and about to exit the barn on foot.

He lunged for the man and body slammed him from behind, sending them both through the barn door in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.

A feminine shriek grazed his eardrums and sucked his breath away even before they both hit the ground in a puddle of dust.

Terror crushed Eve in its grip. She came up fighting. Kicking and screaming, she lashed out at the man who pinned her to the ground beneath him.

“Get off of me!” she screamed, panic consuming her entire body. “Get off!”

“Eve? What are you doing out here?” He rolled away from her and pushed up onto his knees.

She scrambled to her feet, careful to keep her head bent forward. “I ride at night.” She turned her back on him. “I don’t appreciate being tackled. Don’t do it again.” She took off at a jog, leaving him behind in the dust.

Focused on the back door of the lodge, she didn’t dare look over her shoulder for fear he’d take it as an invitation to follow. But there were no footsteps behind her, no pursuit. She reached the house and hurried inside, gunning for the safety of her prison upstairs. She hadn’t felt this overwhelmed since the night of the explosion. Since she’d lain in the gravel and felt her life slipping away.

Her chest tightened as she slotted the skeleton key in the lock, turned it and stepped inside. Hand shaking, she locked herself in, hung her key on its peg and sat down on the bottom step.

Pulling in one deep breath after another, she attempted to waylay the panic attack consuming her bit by bit.

“Control...control. I’m safe. No one is going to hurt me again,” she whispered as she slowly ran her hands down her jean-clad legs clear to her toes, feeling the physical affirmation of her words.

She was safe. She was intact. She was alive.

The fear dissipated. Short-circuited by the technique her therapist had taught her, and the bottle of pills upstairs in her medicine cabinet.

She stood and turned, then headed up the stairs, still conscious of the imprint J.P. Ryker’s body had left on hers. It was a pleasant sensation, and that fact bothered her the most.

* * *

J.P.
fingered the white
cowboy hat he’d retrieved from the dirt and fumbled with its strange appendage, a heavy veil attached to the brim. He’d never seen anything like it before. With the fabric down, it would completely obscure the wearer’s face. But why would she want to hide hers? She was beautiful.

A light flicked on upstairs in the lodge. He dragged his gaze to the window and saw her move in front of the closed blind, once, twice, three times. The mysterious Eve Brooks had just multiplied her mystique in his estimation. Riding at night, wearing a hat with a veil. Staying sequestered in her upstairs room during the day and materializing at night. Was she nocturnal? Maybe.

He turned for the bunkhouse, determined to get some finite answers in the morning. The instant he pushed open the door and stepped into the cabin, he knew he wasn’t alone.

He dropped the hat in his hand and reached for his weapon, but not fast enough.

Behind him, the shuffle of movement echoed in his eardrums. He tried to pivot, but something hard made contact with his skull. Pain pulsed through his head. His vision blurred.