Rough Rider

Once he came to Butte and found out that Hank Knight was retiring, he’d told himself that no one would tie the kidnapping to the old PI.

But unfortunately, he hadn’t known about the man’s partner. It was her up there now with Boone McGraw. He doubted they would find anything. He hadn’t when he’d searched the office, and he’d been thorough. He’d left the place in such a mess, even if he had missed something, he doubted it would turn up now.

It was cold in his truck without the motor running, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. As badly as he wanted to go back to the motel where he was staying, he had to be sure they didn’t find anything. Once Boone went back to Whitehorse, he figured he wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

He told himself that the little gal partner, C.J. West, wouldn’t be searching the office if she knew anything. Also if she knew, he would have heard by now.

She suspected the hit-and-run hadn’t been an accident. But there was no proof. Nor did he think the cops were even looking all that hard. He’d seen something on the news and only a footnote in the newspaper. Hank Knight had been a two-bit PI nobody. Look at that heap of an office he worked out of.

He tried to reassure himself that he was in the clear. That nothing would come of any of this. He’d done what he’d had to do and he would do it again. His hands began to shake at the thought, though, of being forced to kill yet another person, especially a woman.

But if she and Boone didn’t stop, he’d have no choice.

* * *

C.J. HATED TO admit that the cowboy might be right. Before Boone McGraw had walked into this office, she’d been sure Hank’s death had something to do with one of his older cases. All of his newer cases that he’d told her about were nothing that could get a man killed—at least she didn’t think so.

Now she had to adjust her thinking. Could this be about the kidnapping? Her mind balked because Hank loved nothing better than to talk about his cases. He wouldn’t have been able not to talk about this one unless... Unless he did know something, something that he thought could put her in danger...

“Why do you think the hit-and-run wasn’t an accident?” the cowboy asked.

It took her a moment to get her thoughts together. “This ransacked office for one. Clearly someone was looking for something in the old files.”

“You’re that sure it involved a case?”

She waved a hand through the air. “Why tear up the office unless the killer is looking for the case file—and whatever incriminating evidence might be in it?”

He nodded as if that made sense to him. “But if it was here, don’t you think that whoever did this took the file with him?”

“Actually, I don’t. Look at this place. I’d say the person got frustrated when he didn’t find it. Otherwise, why trash the place?”

“You have a point. But let’s say the file you’re looking for is about the McGraw kidnapping. It wouldn’t be an old file since he called only a few weeks ago. When did he turn off his phone and electricity here at the office?”

C.J. hated to admit that she didn’t know. “We’ve both been busy on separate cases. But he would have told me if he knew anything about the case.” He wouldn’t have kept something like that from her, she kept telling herself. And yet he hadn’t mentioned talking to the McGraw lawyer and her instincts told her that Boone McGraw wasn’t lying about that.

That Hank now wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell her hit her hard. Hank had been like family, her only family, and now he was gone. And she was only starting to realize how much Hank had been keeping from her.

She had to look away, not wanting Boone to see the shine of tears that burned her eyes. She wouldn’t break down. Especially in front of this cowboy.

“If Hank did know something about the case, would he have started a file?” the cowboy asked as he picked up a stack of files from the floor, straightened them and then stacked them on the edge of the desk.

“He would have written something down, I suppose.”

“But wouldn’t have started a file.”

C.J. sighed. “No, but you’re assuming a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping is what got him killed. It wasn’t the kind of case he worked. Not to mention that Butte is miles from Whitehorse, Montana. The chances that Hank knew anything about the kidnapping or the whereabouts of your sister, Jesse Rose—”

“Are slim. I agree. But I can’t discount it. He called our attorney. He knew something or he wouldn’t have done that. I don’t think he was curious and I don’t think you do, either.”

She wanted to argue. The cowboy brought that out in her. But she couldn’t. “Fine, let’s say he did know something.”

“So where are his notes?”

C.J. shot him a disbelieving glance as she raised her hands to take in the ransacked room. “Let me just grab them for you.”

“I’d be happy to help you look.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said. “For all I know, you’re the one who tore the place apart.”

“And then came back to confront you and pretend to look for my own file? How clever of me. If I couldn’t find it when this place wasn’t a mess, why would I think you could now?”

She saw the logic, but hated to admit it. “Or maybe you didn’t find what you were looking for and hope that I’ll find it for you.”

He grinned. “I admire the way your mind works, though I find it a little disturbing.”

C.J. bristled. Was he flirting with her?

“You really think I’m the killer cozying up to the partner? Pretty darned gutsy of me.” He shook his head. “Hit-and-run is a coward’s way of killing. Your killer wouldn’t have the guts to come waltzing in here and face you.” He had a point. “But don’t you want to call the cops and report the break-in before you destroy any more evidence?”

* * *

“I ALREADY CALLED THEM.”

Boone heard the anger in her voice as he noticed the old photographs framed on the walls. “They weren’t helpful?” he asked as he got up to inspect them with the flashlight on his cell phone. The snapshots were of the same man, Hank Knight, no doubt, with a variety of prominent men and women and even a couple of celebrities. From the looks of the photos they were old. Which meant Hank Knight had been doing this for years.

“The local cops, helpful?” C.J. let out a laugh. “They don’t believe the hit-and-run was murder because we normally don’t take those kinds of cases.”

“I would think any kind of case could turn violent under the wrong circumstances,” he said, turning from the photographs on the wall. “Look, I’m not leaving town until I get some answers. So what do you say? Let me at least help you look through the files. Other than one on the McGraw kidnapping, what are we looking for?”

She glanced up at him and her gaze softened a little toward him as he took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his Western shirt. “Fine. While you’re looking for something on the kidnapping, keep an eye out for any recent entries, even in the old files.” She showed him what to look for on one of the files. “Hank had his own way of doing things.”

“I can see that,” Boone said as he scooped up more folders.

“We did work closely. Until recently. I did a lot of the legwork. I have to admit, the last few weeks... I hadn’t seen much of Hank.”

So, just as he’d guessed, she was looking for a needle in a haystack and had no idea what had gotten her partner killed. He dropped the folders on the desk next to the others and began going through them quickly. “I suppose you know from the news. One of the kidnappers was found. Dead, unfortunately, so one is still out there. But it’s put the kidnapping back in the news. More information was released. That’s why I assume your partner called. Also my brother Oakley’s been found, although that information hasn’t been released.”

She looked up in obvious surprise. “I thought the man who came forward proved to be a fraud?”

Boone nodded. “Vance Elliot was an impostor, but surprisingly he helped flush out my real biological brother. The news media doesn’t know about it because he doesn’t want the publicity, which I can’t blame him for. In fact, he wants nothing to do with my family. Another reason why I need to find Jesse Rose. Hopefully, she won’t break our father’s heart.”

* * *

THE NEWS TOOK C.J. by surprise. A son who wanted nothing to do with his family? The subject, though, appeared to be closed as he went back to work. Not that she wasn’t curious, but right now she had to find out who had wanted Hank dead.

Sometimes she forgot he was gone. She’d spent so many hours in this office with him growing up... She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Hank had meant everything to her. The thought of him being gone... She pushed it away, telling herself she owed it to him to find his killer. That’s what she had to focus on right now. Later she would have time for grief, for regrets, for the pain that lay just beneath the surface.

She reached for more files from the floor, her fingers trembling. She stopped to squeeze her hands into fists for a moment. If there was one thing C.J. hated to show, it was any kind of weakness. Maybe especially to a man like Boone McGraw. She could look at the set of his jaw or gaze into those frosty blue eyes and she knew what kind of man he was. Stubbornly strong, like a tree that had lived through everything thrown at it for all its years. Just like Hank.

“It’s not here,” Boone said after an hour had passed. “Unless your partner didn’t write it down. Or if he did, whoever tore up this place took the information with him.”

With a sigh, C.J. carried a handful of case files over to one of the cabinets and set them inside just to get them out of the way. Files were everywhere. Then again, this was pretty normal for Hank’s office. He’d never been organized. It was one reason they’d never been able to share an office.

She took a moment before she turned to look at Boone McGraw. The cowboy took up a lot of space. The broad shoulders, the towering height—all that maleness culminated into one handsome, cocky cowboy. She bet most women swooned at his feet and was glad she wasn’t one of them.

“So we’re back to square one,” she said, sounding as discouraged as she felt. She’d looked through all of the files, including those that Boone had also looked through. Not only hadn’t she found anything about the McGraw kidnapping, she hadn’t seen any old case that might have gotten Hank killed.

“Not necessarily,” Boone said as he put both palms on the desk and leaned toward her. “Your partner knew something about the kidnapping. Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper’s accomplice. And if I’m right then you can help me prove it.”

Chapter Four

C.J. pulled up Hank’s old leather chair and dropped into it. She was too tired, too wrung out, too filled with grief to take on this cowboy. Nor could she see how she would be able to prove anything.

She pushed a stack of old files out of the way and dropped her elbows to the top of the scarred desk to rest her chin in her hands. She watched Boone McGraw pick up files and put them back into the filing cabinets. He was actually cleaning up the office. The sight would have made her laugh, if she’d had the energy.

What she needed was sleep. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Hank’s death. She doubted she would tonight, but sitting here wasn’t helping. As she started to get up, she pushed off the desk only to have the worn top shift under her hands.

With a start she remembered something she’d seen Hank do when he was interrupted by a walk-in. Sitting back, she felt into the crack between the old oak desktop and the even older one beneath it. Hank had loved this desk and hadn’t been able to part with it even after one of his cigars had burned the original top badly. Rather than replace it, he’d simply covered it up.

She’d seen files disappear from view only to be retrieved later after a client left. Her fingers brushed against something that felt like the edge of a file folder. She worked it out, her heart leaping up into her throat as she saw the name printed on it in Hank’s neat script: McGraw.

“Did you find something?” Boone asked, stopping his organizing to step closer.

She looked up, having forgotten about him for a moment. When had Hank shoved this file into the crack? Who would have walked in that he didn’t want them to see it? Her heart began to pound. Until that moment, she had refused to believe that Hank would have taken the McGraw kidnapping case—let alone that it could have anything to do with getting him killed.

C.J. tried to remember the last time she’d stopped by Hank’s office. The thousands of times all melted together. Had he ever furtively hidden a file when she’d walked in? Had he the last time she saw him alive, just hours before he was struck down and killed?

Her fingers were trembling as she opened the file and saw that there was only one sheet of yellow lined notebook paper—the kind Hank always used. There were also only a few words written on it, several phone numbers and some doodling off to one side. She read the words: “Travers McGraw, Sundown Stallion Station, Whitehorse, Montana. Oakley, Jesse Rose, six months old. Stuffed toy horse. Pink ribbon. Pink grosgrain ribbon.”

* * *

BOONE HAD SEEN her expression when she’d pulled the manila file folder out from what appeared to be a crack between the new desktop and the old warped one. She’d found something that had made her pale.

“May I?” he asked again.

Silently, C.J. handed over the file, crossed her arms and watched as Boone opened it as if she’d known he was going to be disappointed.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he said after looking at the words written on the yellow-lined sheet of paper inside.

“That’s all there is.”

He could see that she was shaken by what she’d found. Not only had Hank started a file, he’d hidden it. That had to mean something given how the color had drained from her face and how shaken she still looked.

She started around the desk, bumped into him as she stumbled into an unstable stack of files. He caught her, his hands going around her slim waist as she clutched at him for a moment before she got her balance and pulled free. She headed toward a small door he hadn’t noticed before. As she opened it, he saw it was a compact bathroom.

Boone turned his attention back to the file as she closed the door. So Hank Knight had started a file. But if he’d found out anything, there was no indication of it. Maybe the man didn’t know anything about Jesse Rose. Maybe he was just curious.

Or maybe not, he realized as he stared at the notes the PI had taken. He’d known about the stuffed toy horse. But he’d also known about the pink ribbon around its neck—something that hadn’t been released to the press.

He studied the doodling on the side of the page. Hank had drawn a little girl with chin-length hair. His depiction of Jesse Rose from his imagination? Or his memory? Beside the girl, Hank had drawn what looked like a little dog.

A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush. C.J. came out drying her hands on a paper towel. He studied her for a moment. She seemed different somehow. She looked stronger, more assured. He realized she’d probably used the bathroom to get over the shock of finding the hidden file. But what about it had shaken her? The realization that he could be right?

“Did you ever have a dog?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

He motioned to the file and the doodle on the side.

“You think that means something? Doesn’t every little girl have a dog?”

“Did you?” Boone waited patiently for her to answer.

“No, all right? If you must know, we lived in a building much like this one. The landlord didn’t allow dogs.”

“Hank doodled a dog. A girl with a dog. So there must be more than this,” he said, indicating the file.

She shook her head. “Talk about jumping to wild conclusions.” She picked up the flashlight from where she’d left it lying on the desk, the beam lighting most of the room, and shone it on the single sheet in the file.

“Hank had his own system. He numbered the pages in each file, keeping a running tally. It was his idea of organization. If you look on the back of the file, it shows how many papers are in each file. That way you can tell if anything is missing.”

“Your partner got his office broken into a lot?” Boone quipped.

“It’s the nature of the business,” she said offhandedly.

He turned the folder over. There was a one on the back. One sheet of paper inside. He looked up to see her headed for the door. “Wait a minute, where are you going?”

“Home to bed,” she said, after picking up three file folders from the desk where she’d stacked them earlier.

“That’s all you’re taking? Aren’t you even going to lock the office door?”

“What’s the point?” she said over her shoulder. “If there was anything in here worth stealing, it’s long gone now.”

Taking the McGraw file, he went after her, catching up to her at the stairs. “Look, Ms. West—”

“C.J.” She met his gaze. In the dim light of the naked bulb over the stairs, he noticed her eyes were a rich, warm brown, the same color as his favorite horse. “Yes?”

He realized he’d been staring. At least he had the sense not to voice his thoughts. He doubted she would appreciate her eye color being compared to that of his horse’s hide even if it was his favorite. “You should at least have my phone number, don’t you think?”

He started to reach for his wallet and his business card, but stopped when she smiled, a rather lopsided smile that showed definite amusement. “I already have it.” Reaching into her pocket, she brought out his wallet.

“You picked my pocket?” He couldn’t help the indignation in his tone. “What kind of private investigator are you?” he demanded, checking his wallet. His money and credit cards were still there. Now he knew what she’d been doing in the bathroom. All she’d apparently taken was his business card.

When he looked up, he saw pride glittering like fireworks in the rich brown of her eyes. “I’m the kind of PI who doesn’t take anything at face value. I’m also the kind who doesn’t work with amateurs, so this is where we part company. I’ll call if I find out anything about your sister or the kidnapping.” With that she turned and disappeared down the stairs.

He caught up with her at the street. “I’m not leaving town. If I have to, I’ll dog your every footstep.”

“As entertaining as that sounds—”

“I’m serious. I’ll stay out of your way, but you can’t keep me out of this.”

She smiled as if she could and would and climbed into an older-model yellow-and-white VW van. The engine revved. He thought about following her to see where she lived. But he wasn’t going to sit outside her residence all night to make sure she didn’t give him the slip in the morning. He couldn’t force her to help him anymore than he could make her keep him in the loop.

The woman was impossible, he thought as he climbed into his pickup and watched C.J. West drive away. A car a few vehicles away started up and left, as well. He glanced at it as it passed but didn’t notice the driver. His mind was on C.J. West.

He knew nothing about her. She, he feared, knew everything about him, or would soon. The entire story of his family’s lives for the past twenty-five years was on the internet.

Swearing, he reminded himself what was at stake. He couldn’t go home without good news for his father. Hank Knight had started a file. He thought of the brief file now lying on the seat next to him. “Pink ribbon. Pink grosgrain ribbon.”

It didn’t take much of a mental leap to come up with a pink ribbon since Oakley’s horse had a blue ribbon on it. If that information had gotten out, then... But pink grosgrain? Had their attorney Jim Waters released that information to the PI? Or had Hank already known about the toy stuffed horse and the key bit of information about the pink ribbon?

Now more than ever, Boone believed that Hank Knight had known something about the kidnapping. Had maybe even known where Jesse Rose was. Or at least suspected. And it might have gotten him killed.

One way or the other, Boone had no choice. He was staying in Butte and throwing in with this woman whether she liked it or not. He just hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.

Chapter Five

C.J. closed her apartment door and leaned against it for a moment. Tonight, being in Hank’s office, she’d felt him as if he was there watching her, urging her on.

Tell me who killed you! she’d wanted to scream.

She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he’d left behind a clue. Some lead for her to follow that even whoever had ransacked the office wouldn’t get, but she would because she and Hank had been so close they could almost read each other’s mind.

Until recently. Lately he’d been secretive.

But did it have something to do with the McGraw kidnapping? Just because she’d found the file in Hank’s hiding place, it didn’t mean it was the last case he was working on. While she and Boone had found a couple of recent case files, neither of them had seemed like something that could get Hank killed. Then again, like Boone had said, any case could turn violent.

She’d tossed the three file folders from fairly recent cases of Hank’s on the kitchen table as she’d come into the apartment. Now she moved to them. Other than the McGraw file, there was one labeled Mabel Cross. Inside, she found a quick abbreviated version of Mabel’s problem. The woman suspected that her niece had taken an antique brooch of hers. But she also thought her daughter’s husband might have taken it. She had wanted Hank to find it and get it back.

The second file folder was labeled Fred Hanson. His pickup had been vandalized. He was pretty sure it was one of his neighbors since they’d been in a disagreement. He wanted to know which one of them was guilty.

The third case, Susan Roth Turner, suspected her husband might be having an affair.

C.J. sighed. None of those seemed likely to have gotten Hank killed. But she knew better than to rule them out since other than the McGraw file, they were his most recent cases and three of his last ones before he was to retire.

Moving to the refrigerator, she poured herself a glass of red wine and headed for the couch. This was the hardest part of her day. As long as she was busy taking care of all the arrangements for Hank’s funeral, tying up loose ends with their business dealings and looking for his killer, she could keep the grief away.

But it was moments like this that it hit her like a tidal wave, drowning her in the pain and regret. Hank had taught her everything about the private eye business from the time she was old enough to see over the top of his big desk. Her mother had worked in the building back in those days and C.J. used to wander the halls, always ending up in Hank’s office.

He’d pretended that her visits were a bother, but she’d known he hadn’t meant it. He’d started bringing her a treat, an apple, a banana or an orange, saying she should have something healthy. He’d always join her, pushing aside a case file to sit down and talk with her. Even extinguishing his cigar so the smoke didn’t bother her.

From the time she was little, she loved listening to him talk about the cases he was working on. He never mentioned names. But he loved discussing them with her. She had seen how much he loved his job, how much he loved helping people. He’d hooked her on the PI business. All she’d ever wanted was to be just like him.

Hank had loved it all, especially solving mysteries that seemed impossible to solve. He was good at his job and often worked for little or nothing, depending on how much his clients could afford.