“Call me paranoid,” Gabe growled, “but I don’t trust Risvold in particular. He may have innocent reasons for his behavior and his excuse for an investigation, but I can’t forget that he or his department had a leak.” Remembering the burns on Trina’s back spiked his temper. That fire had come damn close to claiming two victims, ensuring that the Keif murders were never solved.
Despite all Gabe had seen and done, he had to shake his head over this guy. Ronald Pearson had to be unbelievably cold-blooded and ruthless. The same could be said about the terrorists Gabe hunted, but they at least committed atrocities out of idealism, however mistaken, not greed.
“You’re right,” Trina said in response to his reminder. “But...a detective? I did some research online, and he’s been with the Sadler Police Department for twelve years.”
“Detective for six of those. I know. And he might have been accepting kickbacks for those same twelve years,” Gabe pointed out. “Longevity and integrity aren’t synonymous.”
She made a face. “What are you going to tell them, then?”
Gabe rolled his shoulders to release some tension. “To start with, I’ll call Deperro, not Risvold. I won’t accuse his partner of anything, but I’ll express our concern about the past leak that was damn near fatal for you and Chloe.” Concern being such a pallid word for what he really felt.
Trina shivered. “Yes, it was.”
“I’ll set up a meeting for them to ask Chloe their questions.” They both knew the cops couldn’t make an arrest based on the word of an anonymous caller. Not Trina’s word, either. No, they’d insist on interviewing the three-year-old witness.
Sounding uneasy, Trina said, “You mean, take her to town?”
“Not a chance.” He made his voice solid granite. “They could grab her and we couldn’t stop them. I’m thinking at Boyd’s place. We can make sure there are too many witnesses for them to be able to get away with anything.”
Her fingers bit into her palms. “Does that mean we can stay here, then? Until it’s all over? I mean, they wouldn’t know the cabin is here, or your name...”
“I’m on the deed and there’s a permit on file for the cabin,” he said, almost gently. “And don’t forget the flyover. It wouldn’t take a genius to realize that, if we know Boyd, this or one of the other ranch houses is a good possibility for the hideout.”
Her anxiety wasn’t as well hidden as she probably thought it was, but she only nodded. “Then we’ll have to figure out something else.”
Moving fast, he shoved back his chair and rounded the table. Gripping her upper arms, he tugged her to his feet. “I won’t abandon you.”
She blinked a couple of times in quick succession, nodded and softened, letting herself lean against him. He wanted to share his strength with her but knew that wasn’t why she needed him. This was a gutsy woman. Despite the intense compassion that allowed her to reach terrified children, she’d do whatever she had to.
She straightened and stepped back, even managing a smile of sorts. “Thank you. I...had faith that you wouldn’t. So, are you going to Bend again?”
He’d rather still be holding her but respected her decision to stand on her own two feet. “Yeah, I think so. If they’ve ever traced one of my calls, with luck they’ll think we’re in that area.”
“Okay. I’d tell you to get groceries, too, but we don’t need anything.”
“Good. I don’t want to be away that long.” He smiled crookedly. “Although I do appreciate my home-cooked meals.”
She chuckled. “Are you running out of phones yet?”
“Nope, I pick one up every time I go in the right kind of store. Better not to be remembered as the guy who purchased ten phones. Speaking of, I’m going to leave one with you, in case of an emergency. I’ll enter my number, Boyd’s and Leon Cabrera’s. One or both of them may be closer than I am.”
Whether he liked it or not, the possibility was real that bad stuff could go down at any time.
“You’d better get going,” she suggested.
“Yeah.” After entering the numbers, Gabe handed a phone to her. Then he kissed her, quick and hard, and went out the door. He heard her lock it behind him before he strode to the outbuilding where he garaged his truck.
Having decided not to take the time to switch out vehicles, Gabe spent the drive second-guessing himself. Would a recording of Chloe’s testimony be sufficient? That’s all a jury would see, anyway. No one would put a preschooler on the stand. Or was there a safer place for a meet, one that wouldn’t give away their location?
But he shook his head at that. It wouldn’t surprise him if the cops already knew where they were. To give them a strong suspicion, all they’d have had to do was succeed in tracing one of those assorted license plates to a guy now working at the ranch.
He really did believe that the rats would desert the sinking ship the minute cuffs closed around Ronald Pearson’s wrists. He and Trina would need to stay on guard for a while, sure, but—
A Deschutes County Sheriff’s Department car passed him going the other direction, a sight that snapped him back to the awareness of his surroundings. He knew better than to brood at the wrong time and place.
Ten minutes later, he parked, facing out, in the Home Depot lot.
His call was put through to the detective, who answered brusquely. “Deperro.”
“Detective, this is Dr. Marr’s friend.”
“Damn it, what’s with the secrecy?”
“You know as well as I do,” he snapped. “You have a leak. If you know how word got out about Chloe starting to talk and where she was living, you should have told Dr. Marr or me. As it is, I don’t figure I can talk to either of you without assuming what I say may be passed on.”
“That’s insulting.”
Gabe’s radar hummed. Deperro should have spoken sharply; sounded insulted. Instead, he’d said what he ought to, but without conviction.
“I have news,” Gabe said abruptly. “Chloe told Trina and me who she saw that morning. It was the partner, Ronald Pearson.” He heard only silence. Stunned? “‘Uncle Ronald’ is what she called him. He bent over her father’s body, so she got a good look at his face. She thought he was going to help her daddy get up, but he didn’t.”
“Damn,” Deperro muttered.
Gabe could think of stronger words. “If you’re doing your job, by now you know the likelihood that drug traffickers are using O.R.E.’s fleet of trucks to transport their products to market. Chances are that Michael Keif found out somehow, and they had a confrontation.”
“Risvold doesn’t believe in the drug angle, but I was heading that direction.”
“Good to know. Okay. I’m assuming you need to talk to Chloe yourself before you can make an arrest.”
“Yeah.” The detective’s voice sounded hoarse. “We do. Man. I’ve never arrested anyone based on the word of a kid that age.”
“Now that you know, you’ll find plenty of other evidence. I hope you have the DEA ready to close in on Open Range the second you’ve arrested the bastard.”
Possibly irritated, the guy only said, “Will you bring the girl here? The sooner, the better. What time?”
“Not there. I need better security than you can give us.” He mentioned the local rancher he knew, who had agreed to allow them to meet at his house. “We can do this afternoon. We’ll need an hour or two to get there, be prepared.”
They agreed on four o’clock. Gabe glanced at the dashboard clock. Yeah, that gave them plenty of time. He named Boyd and the ranch, then ended the call.
Once again, he dumped the phone on his way out of the parking lot, this time in a small, wrinkled bag left from an order of burgers and fries. Then he steered a route to the highway.
* * *
TRINA DID A lot of pacing even as she listened for any sound from Chloe upstairs. She felt again as if her skin had shrunk, only worse.
It wasn’t as if there was any reason to think they were in danger, unless... Was he right, that the detectives might have figured out how to find them? If so, they’d displayed more patience than she would have anticipated. Their initial impatience had been understandable. How frustrating would it be to have a single witness and she was not only mute but couldn’t communicate by writing, either? Had they actually come to grasp how traumatized Chloe was? Remembering her last conversation from Risvold, she made a face.
Not feeling any calmer, Trina went from window to window, stealing looks out. The only movement was in back, where the horses wandered from the paddock into the shade of an overhang where Gabe kept a manger and a tub of water. Finally, surrendering to this edgy feeling, she opened the gun safe. She could just leave it standing open... No, she couldn’t. What if she didn’t see Chloe come downstairs? Okay, then, she’d take out the black rifle Gabe had let her handle as well as the smallest handgun, and set them up high on the bookshelves, where she could snatch them quickly at need. She knew he’d checked, and rechecked, to be sure they were loaded and ready if she needed them.
She felt a little better once she had the guns out and had closed the safe again securely. Then she went back to her route, window to window, and to clock-watching.
Gabe would have made his call and started back. More than that—he’d surely be home in fifteen to twenty minutes, if he hadn’t been held up. Say, he’d had to wait to reach the detective.
Ten minutes later, the sound of an engine came to her. Trina almost slumped in relief, but she went to the front window and opened a slit in the blinds to see out. Dust rose on the cutoff to Gabe’s cabin. The vehicle was big and black...but something didn’t look quite right. Wary, she waited.
It was an SUV that pulled up in front, one with the kind of antennas that police cars had. And a row of lights inside, at the top of the windshield. A man got out.
Detective Risvold. She could make out his face clearly, see the badge on his belt and the holstered gun at his hip. Why would he have just showed up here like this?
Apprehensive, Trina took out the phone, went to Gabe’s number, then changed her mind. Boyd was closer. Her thumb hovered over the screen.
“Ms. Marr!” Risvold called. At least he had the sense to wait by his SUV. “I know you’re in there. I’m here to talk to the girl.”
He couldn’t know anything of the kind, not for sure.
Ignore him? Crack the door and tell him he had to wait?
Call Boyd. But for a second, she hesitated. Had she heard something upstairs? Don’t let Chloe come down, not now.
“Damn it, Miss... Dr. Marr.” He leaned on the “doctor.” Sneering? Or pacifying her? “I’m short on patience. There’s a killer walking free. I can’t do anything about that until I hear what the kid has to say.”
All true.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Finally, “Chaney here.”
“It’s Trina,” she whispered, then realized there wasn’t any reason not to speak in a normal voice. “Detective Risvold is standing out front demanding I let him in to interview Chloe.”
“What?” Boyd said. “How the hell did he find you? Never mind. Damn, I’m on horseback, probably ten minutes from home, longer to get to you. Where’s Gabe?”
“He drove to Bend to call. He told you what Chloe said?”
“Yeah. Shit. Don’t let the guy in. I’ll call Leon. He may be nearer to you.”
“Okay. Thank you. Gabe should be back anytime.”
“Good. You armed?”
“Yes, but... I can’t shoot a police officer!”
“You can if he takes out a window or tries to break in,” he said grimly. “Go for a warning shot. That ought to have him retreating out of range.”
Her smile wobbled. “Okay. Thanks, Boyd.” She sidled over to the bookcase and grabbed the rifle. She was more comfortable with it. Then she scrolled to Gabe’s number, just as more dust rose outside as another vehicle approached fast. Was he back...?
No, this was a dark gray sedan with, she saw as it got closer, the same kind of antenna.
She pushed Send.
* * *
GABE’S HANDS CLENCHED in frustration on the steering wheel as he sat in his truck in the scant shade of a lodgepole pine. After leaving Highway 97, he’d driven only a few miles on the secondary road before spotting a police car parked on a dirt pulloff ahead. Probably there to catch a few speeders, but he couldn’t risk sailing by. It was unlikely the deputy would notice the distinctive dents made by bullets, but a BOLO with the description of Gabe’s truck or the license plate might conceivably have gone out. Gabe had been lucky enough to see a dirt lane turning off to the left half a mile before he reached the cop, and he’d taken it.
A dusty plume rose behind the truck. He’d driven only until he passed out of sight over a rise before he braked and maneuvered until he was facing back the way he’d come. Then he drove slowly until he could see the damn cop.
Waiting, he felt his gut seething. He kept glancing at his phone. He could call Trina, but all he’d do was scare her.
On the highway, a pickup pulling a stock trailer passed. Not a likely speeder. The police car stayed where it was.
His phone rang. He looked down at the strange number and knew. Trina.
* * *
IT WAS DETECTIVE DEPERRO who got out of the second car, Trina saw in surprise. Why wouldn’t they have come together?
Advancing on his partner, Deperro didn’t even glance at the house. He looked mad, she realized. Wanting to hear what they were saying, she grabbed the rifle and unlocked and cracked open the front door.
“...shouldn’t have come.” That was Risvold.
“We have a meeting set up. You know that. This—” the other detective’s sweeping gesture including the cabin, the SUV and Risvold himself “—doesn’t look good.”
Risvold was sweating profusely. Half-turned as he was to face his partner, she thought he said, “I tried to keep you out of this.”
Her uneasiness crystalized and she fumbled with the safety, then raised the barrel of the rifle, but too late. Risvold pulled his gun and shot Detective Deperro in the chest. Shock on his face, Deperro staggered back, fell.
Furious but also feeling weirdly calm, Trina sighted and shot out the window of the SUV. “Drop the gun!” she yelled.
Risvold wheeled toward her and fired. The crack and thud when the bullet plowed into the heavy wooden door seemed simultaneous.
She fired back, probably a little wildly. The bullet skimmed the side of the SUV. Risvold swore viciously and leaped behind it.
She suddenly realized she couldn’t see Deperro. Which meant he wasn’t dead. He must have crawled, because he sure hadn’t jumped to his feet; she’d have seen that. Maybe he and Risvold were both taking refuge behind the rear of the SUV, which wouldn’t be good.
Gabe, please hurry. Boyd, where are you? But she knew, in some part of her mind, that hardly any time had actually passed.
“Trina?” A scared voice came from behind her.
Oh, God, of course the gunshots had awakened Chloe.
“Honey, I need you to—” No, no, she couldn’t tell her to hide, to not come out until Trina or Gabe told her so. Once in a lifetime was enough. Except—Trina desperately wanted her to have a life. “Get down behind the couch,” she said. “A man is shooting at the house, and I don’t want him to hit you by accident.”
The second she saw the little girl duck behind that hefty leather sofa, Trina turned back to peer through the crack again. Risvold...no sight of him. But Detective Deperro had somehow gotten up. Emerging from the other side of the SUV, he bent over and ran toward the far corner of the cabin.
Another shot rang out. He hit the ground, rolled and grabbed his thigh. Trina fired again, this time aiming through the nonexistent windshield and out a side window, she hoped very close to where Risvold must be crouched. Right above his head would be good.
She heard swearing and fired again. Deperro staggered to his feet and kept going.
She had to ignore the whimper from behind the couch.
I’ll run out of bullets, she realized, not quite as calmly. Gabe had said the Savage Model 110 had a four-cartridge box. Five shots, with one already loaded. She counted. How many times had she already fired? Three? No, four. One more. Then she’d have to go for the handgun.
A pounding at the back door had her lurching around. Oh. It had to be Boyd or Leon. She hesitated only an instant, made sure Risvold was still out of sight, closed and locked the door.
Ignoring the whimper from behind the sofa, she ran.
* * *
GABE DROVE LIKE a madman.
The sheriff’s department car had suddenly pulled out onto the highway and accelerated. The rack of lights came on, red, white, blue, rotating. Boyd had said he’d call 911. Gabe hoped this deputy was on his way to the ranch.
But damn it, he turned off on a lonely crossroad and raced up over a rise.
From that moment on, Gabe floored it. He didn’t slow down even when he groped for his ringing phone.
“Leon’s out in hell-and-beyond to rescue a steer tangled in barbed wire,” Boyd reported tensely. “I’m on my way, but close to ten minutes out. I’m hearing shots.”
Gabe breathed a word that might have been a profanity or a prayer. Or both. “I might beat you there,” he said. “I’ll pass the cutoff, and approach from behind the cabin.”
“Don’t shoot me.” Boyd was gone.
If that was meant to be funny, it missed its mark. The urgency driving Gabe left no room for humor.
* * *
THE KITCHEN DOOR had a glass inset. Rifle raised in firing position, Trina peered around the corner from the living room.
It was Detective Deperro looking to one side, then turning suddenly, as if he’d heard her, to stare right at her.
He raised a fist and mimicked knocking, even as he darted another look toward the far corner of the cabin.
Queasy, Trina couldn’t help wondering if the fight out front had been a setup, designed to make her trust one of the two partners and let him in. What if that first bullet had been, she didn’t know, a blank? But the second one...no, she’d seen blood blossom on Deperro’s leg.
Wait. He must be wearing a bulletproof vest. That’s why the shot had knocked him down but not injured him significantly.
Make a decision.
It wasn’t any kind of decision, she realized almost immediately. He could use the butt of his gun to knock out the glass so he could let himself in. In fact, he could have done that already, instead of waiting politely despite the stress and pain he must be feeling. Her only other option was to shoot him. Of course she couldn’t do that.
A thought floated absurdly through her head. Gabe hadn’t built his cabin to withstand a siege. She’d bet he was going to be sorry.
She rushed forward and unlocked the door, throwing it open.
Deperro flung himself in, and she saw that the leg of his cargo pants was soaked with blood.
“Oh, no. Did it hit an artery? You should lie down and elevate your leg.” She sounded, and felt, hysterical.
His dark eyes met hers. “No, I wouldn’t have made it this far if the artery was spurting. It hurts like a mother—” He censored himself. “But I’ll live. Listen, we don’t have time for this.”
“No.” Trina sprinted for the living room. Seeing Chloe huddled in a small ball, she stopped. “Sweetie, please go upstairs to the bedroom.”
Except for the shivers, Chloe didn’t move, didn’t respond. Didn’t even lift her head. Trina wanted to go to her but couldn’t.
She hated that the closed blinds didn’t let her see out front at all. After grabbing the handgun, she leaned the rifle against the wall beside the door.
A dragging footstep behind her was followed by the detective saying softly, “Well, hello, little one.” Then, obviously speaking to Trina, “Where’s the guy who’s been calling me?”
“On his way. Here any minute.” She had to believe that. She pressed her back to the door. “What happened?”
“Damn. You got some towels or something else I can use?”
“There’s a bathroom under the staircase.”
She watched him go, then undid the dead bolt, gripped the Colt and cracked the door, ready to shoot. Nothing happened. She peered out. No movement. But Risvold could be on the porch already. Without sticking her head out, she wouldn’t see him if he was off five feet to one side or another. Holding her breath, she listened. The silence was absolute.
“I’m making a mess,” Deperro said. “I’m sorry.”
She checked over her shoulder. He’d ripped a towel lengthwise and somehow tied half of it around his thigh, the other half folded to provide a pad.
Her laugh broke. “That’s the least of our problems.”
“Yeah, it is.” He was staring at the thin band of sunlight. “I’ve been wondering about Risvold, but...damn, I still can’t believe he’s crooked. I told him what your friend said, that we were meeting at four, and a couple of minutes later he made an excuse and sidled out. I followed him.”
“But...what can he do by himself?”
Those eyes were now black, the set of his mouth grim. “I don’t think he’ll be by himself for long.”
Suddenly light-headed, she wheeled to peer through the crack again, and saw a cloud of dust out on the road.
* * *
GABE’S TRUCK ROCKETED down the dirt road. He’d lowered the windows but didn’t hear any shots. What if he was too late? What if he found Trina and Chloe—No, damn it! He wouldn’t even think that.
He passed the cutoff to his cabin, drove another two or three hundred yards, then steered off the road, bumping over rough ground. He parked, leaped out and ran. He wasn’t halfway to the cabin when he saw a cloud of dirt rising where his had just settled. Reinforcements? Bad enough that Trina was already having to face down two armed, experienced cops.
Unless she was dead, taken out by one of those shots.
He willed the fear away. With luck, Boyd had beaten him here.
He broke from the trees behind the paddock and barn. An engine—no, more than that, at least two—announced the approach of more vehicles. Mack and the gelding were snorting, moving restlessly but sticking close to the barn. Smart. Stepping lightly, Gabe eased around the corner to where he could see the back of the cabin. Nothing there. The door was still closed, the window intact.
A voice behind him said softly, “Yo, it’s me.”
He spun in a shooting position, his brain catching up in time to keep his finger from tightening on the trigger. Sweat darkened Boyd’s hair and his T-shirt, creating a sheen on his face. He carried a handgun that he must have had with him in case of trouble.
“Has she called again?” Boyd asked.
“Not a word.” Gabe pulled his keys from his pocket. “Ready?”
They didn’t run, just moved as quietly as a pair of ghosts, sweeping the surroundings with their guns as they went. At the back door, Boyd covered him while Gabe unlocked it. They stepped inside. He immediately heard a man’s voice. Son of a bitch.
He didn’t even look at Boyd, just walked toward the living room without making a sound.
First, he saw Chloe, squeezed to try to make herself invisible. He evaluated her with lightning speed. Her whole body trembled. She didn’t even look up. Scared out of her skull, but alive. Then he saw the man’s back. Hair as dark as Leon’s, but this guy was a lot bigger. He clearly hadn’t heard the man approaching behind him.
Gabe measured the distance.