Revenge (61 page)

 

The women had retired and Max closed the door of the den. He and Jenner had been comparing notes with Sloan for over an hour, drinking expensive whiskey and cursing the faceless bastards who were hell-bent on causing grief to the McKee family.

“There must be some new leads,” Sloan said as he finished his drink and shook his head when Max offered him a refill. “Someone who tops off the suspect list.”

Frustration etched the features of Max's face. “So far, all we've been able to do is eliminate some. We're down to a few central suspects, but not sure about any one of them.”

“Let me hear what you've got.”

Max stood by the cold fireplace, leaning his hip against the blackened stones. “Okay, the list of suspects could be just about anyone in town, but if we narrow it down to people Barry White would be in cahoots with we come up with several. The first is his half brother, Steve Jansen. After all, he owns the property and cabin where Barry hid out. But the only beef he had with Dad was over some sale of a used truck years ago.”

Sloan, too, considered anyone related to Barry a prime suspect. He set his empty glass on a table and listened.

“The trouble is motive. There isn't much of one,” Max elaborated. “But Steve is in the auto-body business and that keeps him high on the list. According to Jimmy Rickert, Dad had words with a guy in a blue or black American-made pickup in the parking lot of the Black Anvil. Less than half an hour later, Dad was forced off the road. Then Beth's car was rammed by a dark-colored pickup just a few weeks ago, probably the same vehicle. Now, if anyone wanted to replace the bumper or get a little auto-body work done, he'd probably go to Steve.”

“Is Rickert reliable—as a source?”

Jenner and Max exchanged glances. “He usually knows what's going on in town,” Jenner said.

“But he was nearly passed-out drunk when he saw the argument and he couldn't name the guy. Jimmy? Reliable? Not really,” Max said.

Sloan sighed. “Great. Okay, Steve's on the list.”

“Then there's his father—Barry's stepfather. Ned Jansen. Ned has a thing for women. I think he was even going out with Mom before Dad came into the picture. Anyway, Ned got himself into trouble by chasing after one while married to another. Anyway, his divorces cost him a lot, he had to borrow money, and in the end, he used the copper mine as collateral. He figured it wasn't worth much, that all the copper had been mined from it. Even a geological team told him as much. Dad ended up buying the place, and lo and behold, he discovers that the geologists were wrong. There is still copper on the property—not exactly where the old mine was, but close enough to the original one. Boy, was Ned burned. He claimed that Dad had set up the whole deal, paid off the geological firm and everything.”

“He probably did,” Jenner interjected. “It was just like the old man.”

“So why, if his beef was with your father who's now dead, would he take after Beth and Casey?” So far, the choice of suspects seemed weak to Sloan.

“Who knows?” Jenner shrugged. “Ned always did have a screw loose, if you ask me.”

“Any more?” Sloan asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“A whole list. There was a water rights dispute between Dad and Fred Donner. Fred lost not only the dispute but the family homestead, as well.”

Sloan let out a long, low whistle. “Any way these guys could have been in on it together?”

“I wish I knew,” Jenner said, tossing his cane onto the floor and dropping into a recliner. He rubbed his eyes as if suddenly tired. “Betty Landsburg lost her rooming house. Jonah turned it into kind of a minimall. Slim Purcell lost his prize quarter horse in a bet.”

“Corey Stills blames Dad for the breakup of his marriage because his wife, Grace, had an affair with Dad,” Max said.

Sloan's brows quirked.

“Dad was a ladies' man,” Jenner admitted.

“Like Ned Jansen.”

Jenner lifted a shoulder and finished his drink. “Then there was Randy Calhoun.”

“The hired hand?” Sloan asked.

“I was there the day Dad fired him—not only fired him but humiliated him in front of all the other hands. The man had been a loyal employee for years, but Dad was certain that Randy had started stealing cattle from him.” Jenner's blue eyes darkened with the memory. “That day, Randy was drunk, which didn't happen very often. He had a drinking problem, but usually kept it under control. Dad had his old Winchester with him—I think he'd been hunting squirrels—and he told Randy that he was out. Chester, the ranch foreman, was supposed to watch over him, make sure he packed and cleared out. I tried to stand up for Randy, nearly quit myself, but Dad wouldn't listen.”

“How long was that before your dad was killed?”

“About a month.”

“Did Randy have any connection with Barry White?”

“They were friends, drinking buddies. Spent time together at the Black Anvil.”

Sloan rubbed his jaw and stared at his friend. “If you stood up for him, why would he want to hurt you or your son by running Beth off the road? Or why burn down the stables?” Crossing one booted foot onto his knee, he thought aloud, “Maybe everyone's been barking up the wrong tree—assuming that whoever's behind the attacks was seeking revenge against Jonah. But unless the culprit's a mental case, he would've stopped when Jonah died.” He glanced at the two brothers. “Have you ever considered that whoever's behind this isn't an enemy of your father's, but an enemy of yours?”

Jenner's jaw clenched tight and Max's lips thinned with worry.

“Even Casey or your mother could have made enemies.”

“Damn, but this is gettin' complicated,” Jenner said under his breath, but Sloan suspected this wasn't new territory. Max's shoulders slumped.

“It's possible, I suppose.”

“More than possible,” Jenner agreed.

Sloan didn't like the idea; in fact it scared the hell out of him. Somehow it felt safer to blame the culprit's motives on a hatred of Jonah McKee. A man who was hell-bent against one of the living members of the family seemed more deadly because his mission wasn't yet finished. Who knew how far he would go?

Although Jonah's accident had been the only fatality, that was just sheer luck. Jenner and Dani Stewart had nearly died in the fire and Casey had been the target of the rifle attack.

Whoever was behind the plot against the McKees was intent on killing and wouldn't give up.

“I'll want a list of anyone the family might distrust. Dig deep. Start with your grandmother and work through your mother and the rest of you. Think hard and don't pull any punches. Concentrate on any grudges that might exist with you and someone associated, even remotely, with Barry White.”

“That could take a while,” Max said.

“I'll need the beginning of the list tomorrow morning.”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” Jenner said with a grin.

“Just doin' my job and tryin' to get paid.”

Jenner stood and stretched, but the lines of worry didn't leave his face. “You think anyone will attack the ranch again?”

“I don't know,” Sloan admitted.

“Hell—”

“Or they could attack anything owned by a McKee. Anyone close to you.”

Jenner's nostrils flared and he kicked the chair in frustration. “We'd better hire extra security.”

“Already have,” Max reminded him.

“Maybe it's not enough.” His gaze centered on Sloan. “I expect that you'll stay here at the ranch—be a bodyguard to Casey, Mom and Mavis.”

Sloan nodded; he'd already decided that he wasn't going to let Casey very far out of his sight. Not until the madman was captured.

“Make sure that Casey doesn't do anything stupid again and that Mom and Mavis are safe. I'll be in the apartment in town with Beth and Cody, and Max will be at his place. Both phone numbers are on a list by the phone in the kitchen. Come on, you can bunk down in my old room. It's right next to Casey's.”

“I'm not one for sitting around,” Sloan reminded him as he thought ahead; being this close to Casey and having to keep his hands off her would be torture. He followed Jenner down the paneled hallway.

“I know, I know, but we could use another good hand around here. Bateman's bull tore down the fence between his place and ours a few days ago and we were just waiting for the weather to clear in order to fix it. Right now it's patched. And the stock need to be fed, the pipes warmed and ice chipped out of the troughs. A couple of mares are due to foal, and if that isn't enough to keep you busy, there's always firewood that needs to be chopped.”

“All this and watch over your family?”

“Should be simple for an all-around cowboy-detective Native American tracker like you.”

“Piece of cake.”

Jenner grinned over his shoulder. “I thought so. This—” he hooked a thumb at a closed door on the right side of the corridor “—is Casey's room. Mine was here.” Shoving open the door, he walked through and snapped on the lights. Sloan eyed the surroundings. Queen-size oak bed, thick quilt, built-in bookshelves stacked with trophies of roping and riding, weight bench shoved into a corner, television mounted on the wall near the window, and private bath. A rich boy's room. He thought back to his room in Warm Springs. It had been added on to the house, a lean-to barely big enough to stand in, with a single bare bulb, hand-me-down chest of drawers, small mirror and comic books stashed under a secondhand twin bed. But it had been home and warm when the winter wind had blasted through the town.

“This'll do,” he drawled, and Jenner seemed embarrassed. Sloan knew why. Ever since he'd left the Rocking M to make it on his own, Jenner had lived a simple life, moving from place to place, all of his life's possessions packed in a single duffel bag and bedroll.

“Good. I'll see ya in the morning.”

“Wait a minute.” Sloan's voice halted Jenner. “You know any cowboy, long and lean, weathered face with a broken nose, brown hair long and in a ponytail, wears black and has boots with silver chains on the heels.”

Jenner thought for a minute, then shook his head.

“I think he hangs out at the Black Anvil,” Sloan added.

“What'd he do?”

“Don't know, but like I told Revere and the sheriff, I saw him at a roadside diner in Spokane the day before we were attacked. Seems too coincidental. Could be he somehow followed us to the hotel. Maybe someone on the staff would recognize him, but if he did register, my guess is he'd use an alias. I keep trying to remember his name... Mike, Miles... something like that.”

“I'll think on it,” Jenner said, his lips thinning thoughtfully.

After Jenner and Max left, Sloan unloaded the truck. He went inside to Casey's room, opened the door and found her lying on the bed, asleep, her hair billowing around her peaceful face. Beautiful. Intriguing. A woman of fire and ice, strength and determination. A woman who touched him in ways he'd forgotten existed.

Frowning at his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was a rich girl and had been, in her own way, pampered. Just as Jane had been. Jaw tight, he left her nylon bag near the door, closed the blinds to her room and gently yanked the patchwork quilt and drew it over her body. She felt warm, smelled of lavender, and it was all he could do not to linger. Brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, he kissed her temple, then ignoring the swelling that had begun beneath his jeans, walked softly out of the room.

He acquainted himself with the house, locked all the doors, made sure the windows were secure, then made his way back to Jenner's. room. Dog tired, he kicked off his boots and stripped down to his shorts. He'd rest, but only for a few hours, because whoever was out there stalking the McKee family wasn't going to give up.

 

It was nearly noon before Casey was finally up, showered and changed into fresh clothes. She should be thrilled, she told herself as she brushed out her hair; she was home again. She was safe. She was
alive!

But she and Sloan were no longer alone, and waking up in bed without him brought a lingering sadness she couldn't quite understand. Instinctively she realized that it wasn't just because they'd made love, at least she hoped not, but the melancholy clung to her like her shadow. Somehow she'd have to get rid of the sense of depression. Sloan would be leaving in a few days or as soon as his job here was finished. That was all there was to it. He wouldn't look back and neither should she.

Setting the brush on the bureau, she decided it was time to get on with the rest of her life. She'd had a lot of hours to think while being bound and sometimes gagged and she'd come to terms with her future. She didn't want to live at the ranch the rest of her life; she needed some sense of independence, but she couldn't be too far away, either. She'd tried the life of the big city. The bright lights of L.A. had been dazzling at first; the exciting city had pulsed with a life all its own. But the allure had faded with the everyday problems of commuting, smog, crowds and her own unfulfilled ambitions.

So, even though she'd told Sloan she was considering moving to Portland or Seattle, she realized that she had to be closer to home. She'd find an apartment in Dawson City, where she would try to substitute teach for the remainder of the year, and hope to eventually find a full-time job working with kids.
And what about Sloan? Are you just going to forget him? Chalk him up as an interesting experience?
She glowered at her reflection, shook her head and decided that she'd simply have to find a way to get over him. That thought caused her to stop as she reached for the handle of the door. Get over
what?
It wasn't as if they were in love or anything. It was just circumstances, physical chemistry and a moment of weakness. That was all.