Against the Wind (19 page)

“To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. After I put the word out to my bloodhounds for information on Hollister, I never bothered to call them off. I figured, what the hell? You never know what might turn up.”

“I take it something did.”

“Maybe. I'm not sure. One of my people sent word…he says Andrew Hollister was getting big cash payments from a company called Ace Trucking. It's owned by a guy named Vincent Spalino.”

“You think he was blackmailing Spalino?”

“I can't say for sure, but I don't think that was it. The payments had been coming in for years. Looks more like some kind of business arrangement, something they kept off the books.”

“You know anything about the company?”

“Not much. I know their connection to Hollister was
through Southgate Demolition, one of Hollister's companies. Apparently Ace Trucking did a lot of work for them.”

“Could be kickbacks to Hollister through Southgate for getting them the work.”

“Could be. I was just thinking that if Hollister was planning a trip to Rio, maybe he was stashing some of the cash he got from Spalino to set himself up when he got there.”

“He'd need cash, all right. I figured that was why he made the disk—to get as much money as he could before he left the country.”

“Or maybe that's one of the reasons Kozak was pressing Sarah so hard. Maybe he knew about the money. Maybe he was hoping the disk would help him find it.”

“Anything's possible, I guess.”

“I just thought you might want to know.”

“Thanks, Dev. I appreciate it. If anything else turns up, give me a call.”

“You got it.”

Jackson hung up the phone. Hopefully, Sarah was out of danger, but it didn't hurt to stay informed.

He sat back down on the sofa, wondering if he should tell her about the phone call, then decided against it. She had been through enough. Hopefully, it wouldn't matter.

The fire crackled and popped against the sides of the old iron stove. Knowing warm summer nights were at hand, he enjoyed these final chilly evenings with the heat soaking into his bones.

Jackson sighed, his thoughts returning to Sarah, wishing he would be spending the night in her bed, instead of sleeping alone.

J
uly in Wyoming was breathtaking; dark green pines soaring up the hillsides; the deciduous trees fully leafed out; the sky a clear, crystalline blue. A pair of eagles nested at the top of the ridge, occasionally sailing out over the mountains in search of food. Though last night had been cool, the weatherman predicted a rise in the temperature. Summer was on its way.

Sarah sat at her desk, her workday nearly over. Once she had finished her grocery shopping, she could pick up Holly and enjoy the beautiful scenery on the ride back to the ranch.

She finished her article on the Fourth of July fireworks, mentioning what a good job the Wind Canyon Fire Department had done, what a fantastic show it was and how the city's firemen had kept everyone safe.

There had only been one incident. A little after midnight, a teenage boy had accidentally set off a string of
firecrackers that set the dry grass in the field behind his house on fire. The fire trucks had arrived in time to bring the flames under control and keep it from spreading into the nearby forest.

Sarah reread the article and printed it, then packed up her briefcase, said goodbye to Myra and Mike and left the office. She smiled as she made her way along the boardwalk, enjoying the lovely weather and the cloudless blue sky. At the corner, she stepped off the wooden walk into the street and an odd sense of unease struck her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, warning her something was wrong.

“Just keep walking,” said the dark-skinned, foreign-looking man who had accosted her before.

Sarah jolted to a halt, but he grabbed her arm and dragged her forward, around the corner into the parking lot. He slammed her up against the building, the way he had before.

“You were a very naughty girl, Sarah.” He was dressed in expensive tan slacks, a short-sleeved blue oxford shirt and a pair of Italian loafers that had to run at least six hundred bucks.

“I don't…I don't know what you're talking about.” Her legs were shaking, her heart hammering away. She told herself she wasn't in any real danger. He wasn't going to do anything to her in a public parking lot.

“We know you went to the Feds. We know you had something to do with Martin Kozak's arrest.”

“You're crazy.”

“You met with them in Cheyenne.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. It was clear the man had been watching her or knew someone in the FBI. “Are you one of Kozak's men?”

“This has nothing to do with Kozak.”

That was some consolation, she guessed, though she had never figured Marty as the type for revenge. He was a businessman first, last and always. Money was his god—which was the reason he and Andrew had gotten along so famously.

She straightened, forced some courage into her spine. “I didn't go to the Feds. They came to me. They were investigating Andrew's tax records. They threatened to charge me with tax evasion if I didn't help them.”

“Did you give them the disk? Make a deal to exchange it for dropping the charges?”

“I don't know anything about any disk. I told you that before.”

His eyes drilled into her, black and fathomless. A chill swept down her spine. “Come on. We're going for a little ride.”

He jerked her forward toward a row of cars across the lot, but she dug in her heels and tried to twist away from him. “I'll scream,” she warned, then felt the heavy metal barrel of his pistol shoved into her ribs.

“Keep walking.”

“What do you want?”

“We want you to understand what will happen to you if you open your mouth about your husband's business dealings again.”

She moved a couple of feet toward the car, a nondescript white Ford sedan, probably a rental, her eyes darting right and left as she searched for an avenue of escape. She wasn't getting into a car with him. If he was going to shoot her, he'd have to do it right there in the parking lot.

Then she spotted Jackson. He was across the street,
walking toward her office, more than a block away. Why his gaze happened to swing toward her she would never know, but the moment he spotted the foreign-looking man walking beside her, he started running.

The man spotted Jackson, as well. “Keep your mouth shut, Sarah. Think of your daughter.” Hurrying off toward his car, he got in and started the engine.

She was shaking by the time Jackson reached her, and the sedan was merging into the traffic in the street, then disappearing around a corner.

“Did you get the plate number?” Jackson asked, not breathing nearly as hard as she would have been if she had run that far.

She swallowed and nodded. “Wyoming plates—23 619 N O.”

“Twenty-three is the number for Sublette County. That's right here.”

“I-it looked like a rental car, basic, no frills. It didn't seem to match the expensive clothes he was wearing.”

Jackson glanced around, lifted his cowboy hat and repositioned it. “He's long gone by now. My truck is four blocks away or I'd take a run at finding him.” He pulled her into his arms. “You okay?”

Sarah hung on to him, her tremors subsiding, thinking how good he felt and how glad she was he had come along when he did. “I'm okay.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Reluctantly, she moved away from him, regretting the loss of his warmth. She explained the encounter, telling him about the gun and repeating the subtle threats.

“He knew we'd met with the FBI in Cheyenne. He said he wanted me to understand what would happen if I talked about my husband's business dealings again.”

Jackson rubbed his jaw. “Either someone's been keeping tabs on you or he's got an in with the FBI.”

“That's what I figured.” She looked up at him, felt a sudden jolt of fear. “Oh, my God—Holly!”

His glance shot down the street. He jerked out his cell phone and handed it over. “Call them. You know the number. Make sure she's okay and tell them to keep her inside until we get there.”

She dialed the number with an unsteady hand.

“The day-care people won't let her leave with anyone but you, and I doubt he's willing to make a scene, but we don't want to take any chances.”

One of the women at the center answered. Holly was playing Go Fish with some of the other kids. “I'll be there in just a few minutes,” Sarah said, relieved. She looked up at Jackson. “She's okay.”

“I figured she would be. It's you he's worried about. He thinks you know more than you do, and he wants to make sure you keep quiet. Still…” He urged her toward his truck, which was parked down the street. “We'll pick her up, then take that plate number over to the sheriff, see what he can find out.”

Sarah stopped walking. “No way, Jackson. I'm not about to go against these people. I've got to think of Holly. I'm the only parent she's got. My daughter needs me.”

“We don't know how far these guys are willing to go. Your life could be in danger no matter what you do. Have you thought of that?”

Her eyes slid closed. She swayed a little and felt his arm go around her, drawing her against his side. “I don't know how much more of this I can take.” She pressed
her face into his shoulder, her eyes welling with tears. “I just don't know.”

“We'll get through this, darlin', I promise.” He turned her into his arms and held her, smoothed back loose strands of her hair. Finally easing away, he took hold of her hand. “Come on, let's get Holly and go home.”

“What about my truck?”

“Leave it here. I'll drive you into town in the morning and you can pick it up.”

She didn't argue. The adrenaline rush was beginning to fade and suddenly she was exhausted. When she had awakened that morning, Detective Mercer had been her biggest problem.

Now she was right back where she'd started, trying to figure out what in God's name Andrew had done that threatened her from beyond the grave.

 

They drove to the day-care center and picked up Holly, fastened her securely in the backseat then headed out of town. Jackson waited until he pulled up in front of the cottage and turned off the engine before reaching beneath the seat and dragging a plastic bag out from underneath.

“I bought you each a present.”

Holly sat up straighter, her eyes bright with excitement. “You bought me a present?”

“That's right.” He reached into the bag, pulled out a cardboard box and handed it Holly. The other box was larger and he handed that one to Sarah. “I hope they fit.”

Sarah took off the lid, saw a pair of soft brown leather cowboy boots nestled inside.

“Boots, Mama!” Tissue paper rustled as Holly
pulled her pair out of the box, flashy red ones with great big eagles spread-winged on the front. “They're beautiful!”

Sarah ran a hand over the soft brown leather, checked inside for the size. “How did you know I wore a seven and a half?”

“I looked at the shoes in your closet. I checked Holly's, too. Of course, until you try them on, you still won't know if they fit.”

So they went inside and tried them. Holly's fit perfectly and Sarah's fit nicely, too.

“Thank you, Jackson.”

“We're going riding, aren't we? You can't ride without a decent pair of boots.”

With the boots still on her feet, Holly ran over and hugged him. “Thank you, Jackson. I love them.”

“You're welcome. Just be sure to wear them around a little so you get them broken in.”

“I will,” Holly promised, dashing back outside to show them to Gibby and Sam. Rags rushed up beside her and started barking. Holly gave his head a quick pat and kept running.

“Until I get things straightened out,” Sarah said, “I think Holly should stay here on the ranch with Livvy again.”

“So do I. I'll talk to Jimmy, fill him in on what happened in town. He can talk to the hands, ask them to keep an eye peeled for strangers. They're good men. They won't let anyone on the place who doesn't belong.”

Sarah nodded, her mind still spinning with worry over the man in town.

“Tomorrow I'll take you in to pick up your truck and bring it home.”

“I'm going to work, Jackson. I can't hide out here like a frightened rabbit.”

“The guy had a gun, Sarah. I think you should stay close to the house.”

She only shook her head. “There's no way to know how long this might go on. I've got a job. I intend to keep it.”

Jackson blew out a breath. “I was afraid that's what you'd say. I'll tell you what. I'll take you into town in the morning. You usually only work four or five hours, right?”

“Usually.”

“Good, then I'll follow you home when you get off. While you're at work, I'm going to have that old truck of yours gone over, make sure it's in A1 condition. We don't want to chance it breaking down somewhere on the road.”

She didn't like it. She treasured her independence. But for now, she knew he was right. “Okay, but after tomorrow, I'll be all right on my own.”

“We'll see,” was all he said.

She looked up at him as they stood at the living-room window watching Holly outside playing with the boys. Jackson was always so strong and caring. And yet she didn't want to have to depend on him. She needed to be able to take care of herself and her daughter.

Sarah's lips trembled, the situation suddenly more than she could cope with. “What am I going to do, Jackson? I can't live this way, always looking over my shoulder, never knowing if Holly will be safe.”

“We're going to do exactly what we did before. We're going to find out who this guy is and who he works for.
We'll figure out what it is he thinks you know and find a way to end this.”

Sarah swallowed. The man who had accosted her wasn't involved with Kozak Construction. He was harder, the people he worked for clearly more dangerous. He carried a gun and though she didn't think his intention was to shoot her, she was sure he wouldn't hesitate to do it.

She looked over at Jackson, saw the determination in the set of his jaw and tried to find the courage to do whatever it was she had to do.

 

Jackson made arrangements to leave for California on Monday. He didn't tell Sarah. He didn't intend for her to go.

After the incident in town, he had called in a favor and gotten an old friend at the motor vehicles department to run the plate number off the Ford. It belonged to Duff Oldman, one of the locals.

Since Duff was sixty-five years old, mostly into gardening and definitely not the criminal type, Jackson figured the guy had traded the rental plate for Duff's, used it while he was in town, then put it back on Duff's car before he left the area.

No help there.

He might be able to track down the rental car at one of the airports, but the guy had undoubtedly used a false ID.

Jackson had to go back to L.A., see where Devlin's information might lead.

In the meantime, it was the weekend and there wasn't much he could do. As promised, he would take Sarah and Holly camping. One thing he knew—once Sarah
was up in the high mountains away from her troubles and fears—it would be nearly impossible for her to worry. He knew because it was what he'd done when he was a boy and his mother got drunk, or when he had to spend his hard-earned, after-school-job money to buy his family food.

What he still did sometimes when the troubled world just got too heavy to handle.

For the next two days, up in the high valleys where the air was crystal clear and the scent of pine needles and campfire smoke rode on the breeze, Sarah could forget for a while and just enjoy herself.

Or at least he hoped so.

Where this lady was concerned, nothing was ever certain.

He got up early Saturday morning, long before the sun had popped over the hill, and began to get ready for the trip—brushing the horses down; collecting the tent, sleeping bags, cooking utensils, fire grate and the rest of the overnight gear they would need.