Colorado Abduction

She gave a brief nod. “It was dusk. Nicole went for a ride. She wanted to be alone, but the bodyguard, Jesse, left a few minutes later. I heard shots and went after them.”

“How long between when they left and when you heard gunshots?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

“Did you pursue on foot?”

“On horse. Bareback. I happened to be near the corral.” She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed for riding, and I ruined a perfectly good skirt. Tore the slit all the way up the side.”

His mind formed an image of her long legs pressed against the flanks of her horse as she raced across the field. It must have been something to see. “Then what happened?”

“I saw Jesse coming out of the trees. Even though he was badly wounded, he managed to tell me that he saw two men grab Nicole. She struggled, but they knocked her unconscious. They said that my brother would pay a lot to get his wife back.”

Apparently, this wasn’t a planned abduction. There was no way the kidnappers could have known Nicole would be out riding at that particular moment. Not unless she was part of their plan. If that were so, she wouldn’t have struggled, wouldn’t have needed to be rendered unconscious. More likely, this was a crime of opportunity. Nicole happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bad news. Burke preferred to deal with professional criminals. Amateurs were unpredictable. “What happened next?”

“The men from the ranch rode up. Wentworth took care of Jesse. And he was nothing short of amazing. He got Jesse loaded into the bed of a truck and took him to the hospital before the ambulance arrived.”

Jesse Longbridge had been lucky to have the battle-trained expertise of a Marine medic. Wentworth’s fast action and triage skills had probably saved his life.

“After that,” Carolyn said, “I had to deal with my brother, Dylan. He wanted to track down the kidnappers and kill them. But I insisted that all the men leave their guns behind. The sheriff is with them now. They’re still looking, talking to people at nearby ranches.”

Burke needed to put an end to this chase as soon as possible. He strode from the room.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To get us some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Carolyn paced back and forth on the veranda, waiting anxiously for her brother to return. After half a dozen calls on her cell phone, she’d finally convinced him to allow the FBI to handle the kidnapping. Even if Burke was a pain in the rear, he was an expert.

The equipment he’d finally deigned to show her was impressive: GPS surveillance, heat-sensing infrared imaging, audio scanners, computer linkups to monitor e-mail activity. These high-tech tools made her brother’s posse on horseback seem positively archaic.

She knew Dylan would be impressed by the technology. The problem was Burke. If he tried to order her brother around, there’d be hell to pay.

Her first impression of Burke as a brusque, authoritative jerk had changed. He’d shown patience when he’d explained how to handle the ransom call. He’d told her not to confront but to stand firm. And to keep the caller talking. There were two reasons for that strategy. First, so they could get a clear trace. Second, the more the kidnapper talked, the more information they could gather. Little sounds in the background were clues to the kidnapper’s whereabouts.

Burke and his men had practiced with her so she’d know what to say. They’d told her to use her feminine wiles to stall—a useless bit of advice. If she’d ever had wiles, they were buried under years of dealing with ranch hands and businessmen who didn’t respect a woman who cried or pouted or giggled.

According to the FBI experts, her number one goal when talking to the kidnappers was to get proof of life.

She shuddered when she thought of the alternative. Nicole could already be dead. Her fingers tightened on the porch banister, anchoring her to something solid and tangible.

Burke came onto the porch and stood beside her. The sheer size of the man was impressive. He stood well over six feet tall with long legs and wide shoulders. She couldn’t really guess at his age, but assumed that a senior FBI agent would be in his late thirties. A little older than she was.

“Are you chilly?” he asked.

“Not a bit.” She stuck her hands into the fur-lined pockets of the hip-length shearling jacket that protected her from the December cold.

“It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Peaceful.”

“When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get off the ranch. After I left, I kept wanting to come back.”

“But you live in Denver now. Tell me about your job.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”

“You’ve asked so nicely, I can’t refuse.”

She glanced up, catching a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Though he was willing to play along with her insistence for respect, he made it clear that the decision was his choice. He was still in charge.

His attitude was familiar. All her life she’d been dealing with taciturn, stubborn men. Cowboys weren’t known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves unless you put a guitar in their hands. A mournful tune could bring sentimental tears to the eyes of the most calloused ranch hand.

She strolled to the end of the veranda, climbed onto the porch swing and tucked her legs under her.

“My job,” she said. “I’m the CEO at Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. I handle oversight of the product, sales and distribution for this ranch and more than sixty others through-out the west. Anybody who contracts with us agrees to follow sustainable ranching procedures that my father pioneered in the 1980s. All Carlisle Certified cattle are grass fed. We don’t use antibiotics or growth hormones.”

“With the craze for organic food, you must be doing well.”

“The business keeps me hopping, and we’re also doing something good for the planet. Our system of shifting cattle from field to field prevents overgrazing. I like to think that we have a contented herd.”

“But they still get slaughtered.”

She leaned forward, setting the swing into motion. The chain that attached to hooks in the porch ceiling creaked. “I hate to think about that part. For a long time I was a vegetarian.”

“On a ranch?”

“Don’t even think about giving me a hard time. I’ve heard it all.” She swung a little harder. “Currently, we have plans to build a state-of-the-art, humane slaughterhouse a couple of miles from here.”

“I can’t get a handle on you.” He regarded her with curiosity. “Are you a hard-driving businesswoman? Or a tree-hugging environmentalist?”

“A little bit of both. I try to avoid politics.”

He sauntered toward her and sank into a sturdy, carved rocking chair beside the swing. “I’d find that statement easier to believe if the FBI hadn’t been alerted to Nicole’s kidnapping by the governor’s office.”

She hadn’t wanted to waste time going through regular law enforcement channels. “The governor is a friend. I called in a favor.”

“But you’re not political.”

She didn’t need to justify her position to him. What an irritating man! “Why do you want to know about my job?”

“Motivation,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out who has a grudge against you or your brother. For the past couple of weeks, somebody has been causing a lot of trouble at the ranch.”

“Trouble?” Dylan hadn’t mentioned anything until today when he told her about the stable fire. “Please explain.”

“I read the police reports your brother filed. Uprooted fence posts. Damage to the irrigation system in the hay field. A couple of pieces of stolen equipment.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and peered at her through the dim light. “You didn’t know.”

“These incidents sound like minor mischief. Dylan probably didn’t want to worry me.” Still, he should have kept her informed. It seemed like he didn’t trust her anymore. What was wrong with him? He’d never been secretive. Before today, she’d never heard him fight with Nicole.

“It was more than mischief,” Burke said. “Sounds like deliberate sabotage at the ranch. Have there been any threats on the corporate side?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Of course, we have competitors. And disgruntled former employees. But that kind of hostility usually shows up in the form of a lawsuit.”

She heard the sounds of horsemen approaching and saw the posse riding toward the barn. Slowly, she uncurled her legs and stood, watching. Dylan handed his reins to one of the other ranch hands and strode toward them. With his head down and his face shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, she couldn’t see his expression. But she knew he was troubled. His gait was stiff-legged, not surprising for someone who’d been on horseback for several hours.

He had to be devastated about the kidnapping. No matter how much she wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told her about the sabotage, now wasn’t the right time.

Dylan stepped onto the veranda. He pulled off his leather gloves and his hat, dropping them on a rocking chair. His matted black hair stuck to the sides of his head. His complexion was red and raw from exposure to the cold night air.

“Dylan, I want you to meet Special Agent J. D. Burke.”

The two men faced off as they shook hands. Burke was taller and broader, but Dylan was clearly the aggressor.

“You find my wife,” he said. “I want a search helicopter. First thing in the morning. And bloodhounds. Hell, I want you to call out the National Guard. And I—”

“Dylan,” Carolyn interrupted. “What did you find when you were tracking?”

“They went across the back ridge to a paved road. We lost their track. We’ve been going door-to-door at the nearby ranches. Nobody’s seen anything. Not a damn thing.”

One of Burke’s men pushed open the door. “Carolyn, it’s the phone.”

“The kidnappers,” Dylan said. “I’ll take that call.”

“No,” she said. “You won’t. I’ve been practicing. I know what to say.”

When he started toward the door, Burke stepped in front of him. “Let Carolyn handle this.”

“Like hell I will.”

She slipped inside and ran to answer the phone before Dylan could do anything to stop her.

Chapter Three

Burke would have preferred being inside, listening while Carolyn talked to the kidnappers. But he knew his men would record the conversation. During the next few hours, they’d replay it a hundred times, doing voice analysis and isolating every miniscule background noise.

Right now, it was more important to hold Dylan back. Burke wouldn’t hesitate to kick this cowboy’s ass to keep him from barging in and botching their procedures. He stood in front of Dylan like a brick wall.

“Let me pass.” Dylan seemed dazed, in shock. His pale green eyes—the same color as Carolyn’s—flickered nervously. “I need to be in there.”

Burke didn’t waste time on logical explanations. He doubted Dylan Carlisle could hear anything other than the roar of outrage inside his head. It must be an all-consuming noise, louder than an avalanche.

“We’re staying out here,” Burke said.

“She’s my wife.”

“I understand.” If Burke had allowed himself to become emotionally involved with the people on a case, he would have felt sorry for this guy.

“My wife…” His voice cracked. “I love her.”

Though Burke hadn’t touched him, Dylan staggered backward a few paces. The air deflated from his lungs in a gush of cold vapor. He turned, facing the night sky. His fingers gripped the banister. “We had a fight. Right before she rode off by herself, we argued. I said things. Hurtful things.”

Burke stepped up beside him but didn’t look at him. He stood silently, listening like a priest in a confessional.

“Nicole wants a baby.” The words spilled from Dylan as if he’d been holding everything inside for too long. “We’ve been trying for eight or nine months. But no luck. From the start, we knew she might have to be implanted because she had internal injuries from when she got kicked by a horse a couple of years ago. Kind of an occupational hazard, I guess. She’s a large animal veterinarian.”

Burke heard the pride in his voice. Dylan truly loved his wife.

He continued, “She’s a tiny little thing. But tough. First time I saw her, she stuck her arm into a cow’s birthing canal and pulled a slick, wet, newborn calf into the world.” He shook his head. Something like a sob came through his lips. “You’ve got to love a woman like that.”

That wasn’t Burke’s number one criteria, but he understood. “She was right for you.”

“We were supposed to go to the fertility doctor today. He’d scheduled the implant procedure. But I couldn’t go. Not with the stable fire. I had to be here.”

Actually, he could have called Carolyn. She was more than able to manage the ranch while Dylan was at the doctor with his wife. Burke guessed that something else was going on. Maybe Dylan wasn’t ready for kids.

He continued, “I told her we could do it tomorrow or the next day. Why did it have to happen today? What difference could one day make?”

A big difference. It took less than a day to change someone’s life. Sometimes, less than a minute.

Carolyn pushed open the door and stepped onto the veranda. She trembled. “A million-dollar ransom. He wants it by tomorrow afternoon.”

THE SOUND OF THE KIDNAPPER’S voice set fire to a fuse inside Carolyn. She was furious. And terrified. They had to rescue Nicole. Now, damn it. Right now.

But there were procedures to follow, and she trusted Burke’s expertise. He moved around the dining room, checking the various instruments and conferring with his men in technical jargon that sounded like a foreign language.

Needing something to do, she picked up Burke’s leather jacket from the dining room chair where he’d dropped it. The lining was still warm from his body heat. He glanced in her direction. Was he smirking? In spite of her earlier insistence that she wasn’t an errand girl, she’d been reduced to tidying up. Immediately, Carolyn dropped the jacket and stood tall, arms folded below her breasts.

Sheriff Trainer had joined them. The only other person in the room was her brother. Dylan leaned against the wall by the door, near collapse.

“We’re going to play back the ransom call,” Burke said. “I want you all to listen for any sound that might give us a clue to the kidnapper’s identity or his whereabouts.”

“Wait a minute,” Sheriff Trainer said. “Didn’t you get a trace to tell us where he is?”

One of Burke’s associates, Special Agent Corelli, stepped forward. He was the technical expert, the only man in the room wearing a suit and tie. He pointed to a rectangular black box with several dials. On the screen was a map of the area. A red dot blinked on a secluded road, too small to be given a name.

Corelli pointed to the dot. “When he made the call, he was here. I’d guess that he’s on horseback or in an all-terrain vehicle.”

Dylan staggered forward and squinted at the screen. “Does he have Nicole with him?”

“Sorry,” Corelli said. “There’s no way of knowing.”

Carolyn went to her brother’s side. “Sit down, Dylan.”

“Can’t.” He stumbled back to his position against the wall. “If I sit, I’ll fall asleep.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“I won’t sleep until Nicole is in the bed beside me.”

A noble sentiment. But it wouldn’t do Nicole any good if he pushed himself beyond his limits and had a total breakdown.

The sheriff tilted his hat back on his head and stared at the blinking dot. Though he wasn’t holding a cigarette, Carolyn smelled the residual smoke that clung to his uniform. “Seems to me that we ought to head out in that direction.”

“He’ll be long gone,” Burke said. “He was smart enough to know that the phone call would be traced. He’s in a remote area with no witnesses. There’s no way we could have gotten there in time. He used a disposable cell phone so we can’t ID the number.”

“There are still records of those things,” the sheriff said. “We can find out where he bought it.”

“We’re running those records,” Corelli said.

Carolyn was surprised that the Delta County sheriff was so attuned to complex investigation techniques. She’d always thought the skinny, gray-haired man was a nice guy, but not particularly competent.

“The good news,” Burke said, “is that our kidnapper is still in the area. More than likely, he’s a local. Somebody you might know. That’s why I want you to listen to his voice. And the way he puts his words together.”

He pressed the playback button and Carolyn heard her own voice. She was surprised that she didn’t sound as terrified as she’d felt at the time.

“Hello, this is Carolyn Carlisle.”

“I want a million dollars.” The kidnapper spoke in a rasping, ominous, barely audible whisper. “I want it in cash.”

“You’ll have to repeat that. I can’t hear you.” She’d been stalling, doing as Burke had suggested. “Please speak up.”

“Listen hard. A million dollars. Cash. Nothing bigger than a hundred.”

“Do you have Nicole with you? I need to talk to her.”

“Pay me. Or she dies.”

On the playback Carolyn sounded confident. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get everything you want. If it’s a million dollars, you’ll get a million.” She’d been rambling, keeping him on the line. “Please let me talk to Nicole.”

“I want the money tomorrow afternoon at five.”

“It’s going to be hard to scrape that much cash together in one day.” More stalling. “Tomorrow is Saturday. And the local banks probably don’t have a million dollars on hand. We’ll have to go all the way into Denver.”

“Not my problem.”

She remembered Corelli giving her the thumbs-up signal. They had successfully made the trace.

She heard herself say, “I need proof of life.”

There was a pause. “What’s that?”

“Proof that Nicole is still alive. Let me talk to her.”

“You’ll get your proof.”

That was when he disconnected the call.

She looked into Dylan’s face. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Carolyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother cry. When she touched his arm, he collapsed against her.

“This is all going to work out,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of putting the money together.”

Burke cleared his throat. “Anybody recognize the voice?”

“Not really.” The sheriff patted the pocket in his shirt where Carolyn could see the outline of a cigarette pack. “That whisper could have been anybody. I didn’t hear an accent. He didn’t use any slang.”

“Proper language,” Burke said. “Instead of saying ‘Ain’t my problem’ he said ‘Not my problem.’ And he didn’t know what proof of life meant.”

“What does that indicate?” Carolyn asked.

“He’s not a professional kidnapper. He might not even have a criminal record.”

“Which means,” Corelli said, “that his fingerprints might not be in the system.”

Burke nodded toward the other two men, both of whom were wearing black windbreakers with FBI stenciled across the back. “Special Agent Smith and Special Agent Silverman are both trained profilers. Sheriff, they’re going to need to talk to everybody on the ranch. Starting now.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” the sheriff protested.

“The first twenty-four hours are crucial.” Burke turned to the Smith–Silverman team. “Start your interviews with the sheriff. Keep me informed.”

Carolyn could feel Dylan’s knees beginning to buckle. His body was literally giving out. Before he went limp and dragged them both to the floor, Burke came up beside her and slipped his arm around Dylan’s torso. “Let’s go, buddy. You need a rest.”

He tried to rally. “Can’t go to bed.”

“Just a catnap,” Carolyn said. “On the sofa in your office. You’ll be close.”

With Burke supporting her brother, she went down the hall, through the entryway, and took a right. The second door was Dylan’s office—a large, masculine room with a wall of books and windows that opened onto the veranda. Opposite the huge oak desk that had belonged to her father were two brown leather chairs and a matching sofa.

Burke sat Dylan on the sofa, and Carolyn peeled off his jacket. Getting his boots off was an effort but she managed. Her brother stretched out, immediately asleep. She covered him with a crocheted afghan, striped in green and brown.

Closing the door, she stepped into the hallway with Burke. “Thanks. I couldn’t have carried him by myself. Whoever said ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,’ didn’t know Dylan.”

“The Hollies,” Burke said. “They sang it.”

She leaned against the wall outside the office, allowing this moment of quiet to soothe her frazzled nerves. It was nice to be here with Burke—someone who didn’t depend on her. “I’m worried about him.”

“Dylan blames himself for what happened.” His voice was low, intimate. “He and Nicole argued before she took off.”

“I heard them.” That was less than six hours ago but it felt like an eternity. “I didn’t catch what they were saying.”

“They were trying to get pregnant. Your brother didn’t want to take time out of his schedule to see the fertility doctor. That’s why Nicole was angry.”

“Dylan told you all that?” She gazed up into his stern, craggy face. In the soft light, his features seemed warmer, more appealing. “If I can’t get him to open up to me, why would he talk to you?”

“Sometimes, it’s easier to tell your secrets to a stranger.”

Unexpectedly, he reached toward her and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The stroke of his fingertips on her cheek set off an electric reaction that sizzled down her throat and into her chest. “You don’t seem all that strange. Actually, you’re kind of all right.”

“High praise,” he said wryly. “Don’t make me more than I am, Carolyn. I’m just doing my job.”

She didn’t quite believe him. Burke tried to stay detached, but the hard-nosed attitude didn’t come naturally. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be. You care about what happens to Nicole. And to Dylan.”

“Caring is human. But I don’t let empathy get in the way of my work.”

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just—”

“And I care about you,” he said.

Her heart thumped against her rib cage. Her gaze dropped from his face to his broad chest. Just for a moment, she wished she could rest her head against him. “Thank you.”

“You’re trying to carry your brother, run the corporate business and manage the ranch.” He rested one hand on her shoulder. With the other, he lifted her chin so she was looking into his dark eyes. “Who takes care of you, Carolyn?”

No one. She had no one to share her burdens. No one who really cared for her. “I talk to Elvis.”

His lips parted in a grin. “First the Hollies. Now Elvis. Are we on a tour of the golden oldies?”

“Elvis is my horse. I tell him my secrets and he listens.”

Burke leaned down and kissed her forehead. He stepped back so quickly that she wasn’t sure what happened. But her forehead tingled. She felt suddenly warm. Hot even.

One of the other agents—either Silverman or Smith—came into the hallway. “Burke, you need to hear this.”

“What is it?”

“The sheriff says the most likely suspects live on a ranch near here. The Circle M.”

Burke turned to Carolyn. “What do you know about the Circle M?”

“The ranch belongs to Nate Miller, but he’s renting the entire property and all the outbuildings to Sam Logan and a group of his followers.”

“Followers?”

“They call themselves the sons of something or other. They’re survivalists.”

Burke looked back toward the other agent. He said just one word. “Waco.”

In a flash she remembered television images of burning buildings and reporters talking about the women and children who had died in the confrontation between the FBI and the Waco cult.

“It’s not the same thing,” she said quickly. “Sam Logan isn’t that kind of guy.”