B.J. Daniels - Twelve-Gauge Guardian

“I told you—”

“I swear I will drown you in that ditch if you don’t start telling me the truth.”

He heard her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was shaking, no doubt from the adrenaline of the chase—certainly not from fear of him. There was a determination in her eyes that he’d misjudged before. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“If you let me up, I’ll tell you everything.”

He let out a bark of a laugh. “You think I’m going to fall for that again?”

“I already told you. I was crossing the parking lot behind the hotel when someone tried to run me down. Your brother shoved me out of the way, I fell and that’s all I remember. I must have blacked out for a moment because when I came to, your brother was lying there on the ground and I could hear sirens.”

He pushed her down harder, pressing the gun barrel into her temple. “Why didn’t you stay and tell the sheriff’s deputy what had happened?”

She shook her head, making him want to throttle her. “I told you. I was scared. I panicked.”

“Bull. You didn’t want to be involved. Why?”

“I was scared.”

He couldn’t imagine anything scaring this woman. He also didn’t believe she’d come back to the hotel this morning to find out Cyrus’s name. So what had she been looking for?

“Do you have a permit to carry this gun?”

She hesitated a little too long. “Not in Montana.”

“Why are you carrying a gun anyway?” he demanded.

“I live in L.A. You’d carry a gun, too.”

Cordell didn’t know what to think. Was it possible Cyrus had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was this woman lying through her teeth?

“Why would someone want to run you down?”

“How would I know? Maybe they mistook me for someone else. Or maybe it was an accident. Now would you please let me up?”

“Like your tire on your car just happened to be slashed?”

He sighed. He was getting nowhere with her. He let go of her hands, standing back in case she came up fighting, which he half expected. To his surprise, she got slowly to her feet.

“How is your brother?” she asked quietly.

“He’s in a coma.” Cordell had to look away. Just saying the words made it all too real.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded surprised and sympathetic.

“Good,” he said. “Because you’re going to help me find the person who did this to him.”

“I told you I don’t know who was behind the wheel of that van.”

That, he thought, might actually be the truth. But he suspected she knew damned well why the person had cut her tire and then tried to run her down. Cyrus couldn’t have gotten downstairs from the fourth floor fast enough, unless he’d seen the man knife her tire and then go wait for her in the van with the motor running.

Cordell stepped to the open door of the pickup and took out her purse, an overnight bag with a small laptop computer tucked in the side and a large leather satchel. Laying each in the grass, he began to go through them, keeping the gun within reach should he need it.

“Please, that’s my personal—”

“Stay right where you are,” he warned her.

She stopped moving toward him, looking resigned as he opened her purse and quickly searched it. A little over two hundred in cash, most in crisp new twenties probably straight from the ATM machine. A California driver’s license. He glanced at the information on it. Twenty-six.

Nothing unusual in her overnight bag.

He was beginning to wonder if she might really be telling the truth when he opened the large leather satchel. “What the hell?”

Raine was still reeling from what he’d told her. His brother was in a coma? She felt sick to her stomach even before Cordell opened her satchel.

“I asked you what the hell this is,” he demanded, taking a step toward her, shock and disbelief contorting his handsome face.

“I’m a journalist.” The lie didn’t come easily even though it was the one she’d been using for her cover. She hated lying to him. She’d inadvertently gotten his brother into this. She felt guilty enough. Lying didn’t make it any easier. But she still couldn’t be sure she could trust this man….

“A journalist? ” Cordell grimaced as he glanced again at the photographs in the satchel. “This is about some article? ”

“Are you going to question everything I say to you?” she demanded, going on the offensive.

“I am until I hear something I can believe.”

She tried a little truth on him. “I’m working on an old missing person’s case, a child who was abducted sixteen years ago from Whitehorse. Her name was Emily Frank.”

Cordell studied her openly before pulling out the stack of photographs from the abductions. As many times as she had looked at the photos, she never failed to be moved to tears by the piles of charred bones, the rusted fifty-five-gallon barrels where the remains were found or the faces of the children still missing—and presumed dead.

Cordell shoved back his Stetson, looking shaken and uncertain, as he pulled out all the research material she’d gathered. “All this is related to the article you’re working on?” he asked in disbelief.

She nodded.

“This child, Emily Frank … Tell me you aren’t here looking for her remains.”

“No. I’m interviewing the people who knew her.”

He was watching her closely as if he knew she was leaving out some key piece of information—and wondering why. “So how many people have you interviewed?”

She knew where he was headed with this. He was trying to decide if her article research was connected to his brother’s accident.

“None. I only got to the town yesterday,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone yet.”

He frowned. “Someone knows you’re in town.”

He was right about that, she thought and added truthfully, “I have no idea how they might have found out.”

Cordell sighed. “What newspaper or magazine do you work for?”

She tried not to glance away from his black bottomless gaze. “I’m freelancing this one.”

“How about a home address, a former newspaper or magazine, someone who can verify your story.”

She felt her eyes narrow as she met his gaze. “My mother took off when I was a baby. I never knew my father. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I put all my things into storage before I left California. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone. So, no, I don’t have a home address or anyone who can verify what I’m working on.”

“Someone knows,” he snapped and pulled off his Stetson to rake his fingers through his hair. “Chucking it all for a story, that’s some dedication to your work. Why Montana? I’m sure there are missing children in California. There must be hundreds of stories you could have done there, if not thousands. Why this particular case?”

She was forced to look away. “I saw a picture of her. There was just something in her eyes …” She swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“I’m going to have to go through all of your notes, everything you have on this case.”

She balked, just as she was sure he’d known she would.

“I should mention,” he said, his words like thrown stones, “I went to the sheriff this morning. She just happens to be my cousin. I told her you stole my brother’s pickup and might have been involved in the attack on him. She’s already put an APB out on you because you left the scene. Unless you want to go to jail, I suggest you reconsider.”

“I’ve told you what I’m doing here,” she said, shaken to hear that his cousin was sheriff. “Why don’t you tell me what brings two private investigators to Whitehorse, Montana?”