Calder Pride (36 page)

Cat searched the rearing blackness ahead of them. They had to be close to Shamrock’s headquarters. They had to be. Quint was half-asleep in front of her, his weight sagging against her encircling arm while the mare’s head bobbed rhythmically with the pace of her quick-striding walk.

An instant later Cat recognized the solid black shape of the barn’s hipped roof jutting against the night sky. Relief trembled through her.

“We’re almost there,” she murmured to Quint.

A shrill neigh rang out, sharp with query. The mare nickered an answer and broke into a rocking lope, ears pricked in the direction of one of her own kind. Starlight frosted the edges of a board fence. The mare slowed before they reached it. Other hooves pounded to meet them, the sound preceding a collection of snorts and curious whickers as a trio of horses poked their heads over the fence to check out the newcomers.

When the mare stopped, Cat slid to the ground, keeping one hand on Quint until she could lift him off the horse. With Quint once again balanced against her hip, she stepped to the mare’s head. A bright light sprang out of the darkness, blinding her.

“Hold it right there,” a familiar voice barked as she threw up a hand to protect her eyes from the glare. Instantly the light swung away. “Cat! What are you doing here?”

“Uncle Culley, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.” A sigh rippled from her in a sudden release of tension. As succinctly as possible, she told him
about the two men and her escape from the house, explaining that Logan had been called away to the fire. “I need to call him.”

“The power went out about a half hour or so ago.” He unbuckled the halter and turned the mare loose in the corral with his horses. There was a flurry of squeals and flying hooves as a new pecking order was established. “The phone should still work, though. Let’s go see.”

With his flashlight to guide them, they made their way to the house. She laid Quint on the living room couch and tried the phone. It worked. Jenna Grabowski, who usually worked the day shift, had been called in to man the phones at the sheriff’s office. As Cat had expected, Logan was somewhere on the fire line, and unavailable at that moment. She told Jenna what had happened and where she was. Jenna promised to pass the information to Logan as soon as she could track him down.

By the time Cat had hung up, Culley had dug out the old kerosene lamp, lit it, and set it on the kitchen table. The bright glow of it filled the small room and banished the dancing shadows to the far corners. Cat wandered over to a chair and briefly gripped the back of it. In silence, Culley watched the way she reached up and raked fingers through her hair, dragging it back from her face. It was a habit she had whenever she was nervous. Culley doubted that she even knew she did it.

He got an old jelly glass out of the cupboards and rummaged through the shelves until he found the bottle of whiskey he kept on hand for cold winter nights. He poured some in the glass, added a splash of water and some ice cubes, then took it to her.

She looked at it and shook her head. “No thanks.”

“You’re strung out like a high-tension wire. Drink it.” He pushed it into her hand.

She took a small sip of it, shuddered, and
wrapped both hands around the glass. “Utility men wouldn’t wear ski masks. In winter, maybe, but not at this time of the year.”

“What are you talking about?” Culley frowned.

Her shoulders moved in a vague shrug. “I was just thinking that maybe the men I saw were with the utility company—that maybe I panicked for no reason. But I didn’t. They had something black over their heads, like ski masks.”

“You did the right thing coming here.”

The phone rang. She whirled toward it, the diluted whiskey sloshing in the glass. Before Culley could answer the phone, she snatched the receiver off the cradle. “Shamrock—”

“Cat, it’s me. Jenna gave me your message.” Logan’s voice traveled through her. It calmed her, steadied her. “Tell me again what happened.”

For the third time, she repeated the story, careful not to leave out anything.

When she finished, Logan made no comment and asked instead, “How’s Quint?”

“He’s fine. In fact, he’s sound asleep on the couch.” She glanced into the living room. “We’re both fine.”

“Good. Jenna called the utility company. The outage had already been reported. They think a transformer blew. They have a repair crew rolling now. You stay with O’Rourke. I’m on my way to our place to check things out.”

“Be careful, Logan.” She clutched the phone a little tighter.

“You can count on it.”

Cat heard the smile in his voice—and something else that had the solid ring of competence. This time, after she hung up the phone, she sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, relaxing a little and taking another sip of the whiskey drink.

“That was Logan,” she told her uncle, unnecessarily.

“I figured.” He nodded.

Roughly an hour later Logan called back. “They were already gone by the time I got here,” he said. “But I found where they jimmied open a window. So far I haven’t discovered anything missing.”

“Thank God,” Cat murmured.

“I’ll probably be here a while longer yet, and I was afraid you might start worrying if you didn’t hear from me.”

“I would have.” She smiled into the phone.

“That’s what I thought. In the meantime, plan on spending the rest of the night at O’Rourke’s. I’ll grab some clothes for you and Quint and bring them with me when I come.”

“Don’t forget to bring toothbrushes and a comb. Quint’s in his pajamas, so he’ll need a full set of clothes—and his boots.”

“I’ll get them. Is O’Rourke there with you?”

“Yes?” The surprised lilt of her voice turned the answer into a question.

Logan ignored it. “Let me talk to him a minute.” During the pause that followed, he heard Cat’s muffled voice relaying his request to her uncle. When he came on the line, Logan wasted no time coming to the point. “I don’t want Cat to know yet, O’Rourke, but this was a kidnapping attempt. They were after Quint.” Logan stared at the ransom note, sealed in an evidence bag on the seat of the patrol car. Rage warred with the cold, hard knot in his stomach.

Quick on the uptake, O’Rourke said, “Don’t you be worrying about her. Cat’s fine. It kinda shook her a little, but she’s made of strong stuff.”

“I may be worrying for nothing, but you keep a sharp lookout just the same.”

“You can count on it. What’re you gonna do?”

“Look around some more. I’ve already called the FBI. They’ll have agents here in the morning. Tell Cat to get some sleep if she can.”

“I will.”

Logan hit the disconnect switch on the mobile phone, then paused. He still had one more call to make—to Chase Calder. For the next few days at least, he wanted Quint and Cat installed at the Triple C, where they would be safer.

Nerves. Cat showed them as she raked fingers through her hair whipping it into place. But she had control of them, too, Logan observed with a touch of pride. That showed as well.

“Are you certain there were only two men, Mrs. Echohawk?” The question came from Matt Russell, the younger of the two agents. He sat in one of the den’s tall-backed chairs that usually faced the room’s massive desk. It was angled now toward the leather couch where Cat was seated.

“No, I am not certain.” Impatience surfaced in her voice. The question was another variation of a previous one as the agent went over the same ground from a different direction. Logan was familiar with the routine. He also knew that rewording a question sometimes elicited vital bits of information. “But I only saw two men,” Cat said again, then paused and released a heavy sigh. “In all honesty, I can’t swear they were even men. They were just two dark figures.”

“Do you recall if both ‘figures’ were approximately the same height and build?”

“I don’t recall anything about them. I have no idea whether they were tall or fat, thin or short. I wish I could give you a better description, but—
when I realized the starlight wasn’t casting any sheen on their faces, that their heads were covered by some kind of ski mask, I knew I had to grab Quint and get out of there. I’m sorry. I know I’m not being very helpful.” Sighing again, Cat reached for the insulated coffeepot to refill her cup.

“On the contrary, you’re being very helpful,” Agent Russell assured her.

Temper flashed in her green eyes. “I know better, Agent Russell. Please don’t humor me.” She snapped open the lid to the coffeepot and tipped its spout over her cup. Only a trickle of coffee came out. Annoyed, she set the pot back on the serving tray and shot a quick look at her father. “Dad, would you ask Audrey to bring some more coffee?”

Chase sat behind his desk, a silent, impassive figure all through the lengthy questioning of his daughter. At Logan’s request, he had asked no questions of Cat when they arrived at the ranch early this morning, which meant he was hearing many of the details for the first time.

“I’ll get it,” Ty spoke, moving away from the fireplace before Chase could reach for his cane.

The empty coffeepot in hand, Ty crossed to the double doors and pushed one open. A telephone jangled in another part of the house, the strident sound intruding into the quiet of the den. The extension on the desk remained silent, its bell switched off.

Earlier in the morning, the press had gotten wind of the attempted kidnapping of—as they were putting it—the heir to the Calder empire. The telephones at both the sheriff’s office and the Triple C hadn’t stopped ringing since. Two reporters had already been politely escorted off the ranch, and Logan had posted a deputy at the entrance to the Circle Six to keep the media away. It was only a matter of time before the television crews arrived, and
they would have to contend with helicopters buzzing overhead.

As soon as the door closed behind Ty, Russell resumed his questioning. “What made you feel so strongly that you had to get away?”

“Logan said to run—”

“How was he able to tell you that?” The second agent, an older man by the name of George Markus, turned from the window where he’d been standing, his sharp gaze locking on Cat. “The telephone line to the house had been cut.”

“I didn’t mean he told me that night. It was before then…after—”

Catching the hesitation in her voice, Logan stepped in to explain, “My wife was assaulted a few weeks ago. Afterward, I showed her a few self-defense tactics and stressed as strongly as I could that the best defense was to run.”

“This is that Lath Anderson you were telling us about?” Markus asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes.”

Chase rocked forward in his big chair, the movement drawing Cat’s glance. “I guess I should have mentioned it to you, Dad, but—nothing happened. I wasn’t hurt. He just had me trapped and I couldn’t get away. Then Uncle Culley came and—it was all over. He left. I—” Breaking off the sentence, she swung to Logan. “You don’t think it could have been Lath and his brother I saw?”

“I don’t know, Cat. I did see both of them last night, working alongside the other volunteers fighting the grass fire. But I couldn’t swear that they were there the whole time.”

“We’ll check that out.” Agent Markus thumbed an antacid tablet from the roll in his hand and popped it in his mouth.

Ty came back with the coffee. After filling Cat’s
cup, Logan poured one for himself, then offered it to the agents. Both men shook their heads, and Markus turned back to the window.

After the agents were satisfied they had gleaned every grain of information from her about the actual kidnapping attempt itself, they asked the usual questions of everyone: Had they noticed anything suspicious the last few days? Seen anyone hanging around? Received any strange or unusual phone calls? What about enemies, disgruntled employees, anyone holding a grudge, recent hirings, recent firings, arrests, convictions?

From outside came the drone of a motor, overridden by the distinctive chop of helicopter blades. “A television crew getting some aerial footage of the ranch,” Markus remarked from his post at the window. Glancing sideways, he looked at Chase. “This is one time, Mr. Calder, when publicity can be an ally. If the spotlight is big enough and bright enough, it can scare them off completely.” He held up a hand, as if expecting a protest. “I’m not saying we aren’t going to do everything we can to catch these guys. But what we don’t want is for them to make another try for your grandson.”

Logan nodded. “You or Ty need to draft a formal statement, call a press conference and read it to them, show them a solid family front. Maybe offer a reward.”

“Not here on the ranch,” Chase stated. “I don’t want camera crews and photographers crawling around here.”

“I was going to suggest that you hold it on the steps of the sheriff’s office,” Logan replied. “I prefer that the media regard the Triple C a fortress. They can fly over it, but they can’t get into it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Markus agreed. “Believe me, the kidnappers will get the message.”

“Consider it done.” Chase reached for the telephone. “I’ll call Stumpy right now, and have him make sure every road gate leading onto the Triple C is closed and men stationed at them.”

But Logan knew that was just the beginning. The press conference alone would require precise planning for it to come off without a hitch. Which meant more work for him. Fatigue tugged at his muscles. He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the rasp of whiskers. He needed a shave and a shower, a change of clothes, some sleep, and a few hours with Cat and Quint. But he didn’t think he’d get the time for any of that.

On the late evening newscast that night, the attempted kidnapping was the lead story on all three stations. Sitting on the living room sofa, with Logan’s arm a warm weight around her shoulders, Cat watched with pride when her father’s image came on the screen. He made a commanding figure in his suede jacket and dark Stetson, age lines giving his raw-boned face a craggy strength. His voice, when he spoke, resonated with authority and conviction. Ty stood at his side, a younger, taller version of his father, stamped with all the same features and characteristics.