Iron Cowboy (10 page)

She sat down across from him in an armchair. “I told her what was necessary…”

“You what?” he asked, aghast.

She held up a hand. “Being kind to her isn't an option. What if she decided to accuse you of forcing her? You could lose millions. Your reputation would be in ashes. What sort of life would it be for a child, if she had one, living in this small town asylum with a mother who barely made minimum wage and could hardly afford to clothe her?”

Jared wasn't thinking about money. He was remembering the throb in Sara's voice in the darkness. She hadn't been leading him on. She hadn't realized what he meant. She didn't know that she was agreeing to have sex with him. And she was nineteen years old. He felt guilt like a rush of hot acid in his gut.

“When are we going to Cancún?” Max asked, to divert him.

He turned and looked at her, but he didn't see her. “I haven't thought about it.”

“A few days on the beach would do you good,” she coaxed. “You can put this place behind you.”

He was staring at her. “Why Cancún?” he asked.

She hesitated. “It's got lovely beaches. There are Mayan ruins nearby.”

His eyes had narrowed. “You'd better come clean.”

She frowned. “I'm not doing anything dishonest,” she said. “There's a consortium that handles pharmaceuticals. They want to invest in our corporation.”

“Name them.”

She frowned more. “Well, I don't really have just one name. They call themselves the Reconquistas.”

“When did you speak with them?”

“Last week. Why?”

“Law enforcement just apprehended three terrorists in Victoria, heading this way,” he said furiously. “And you don't know why?”

She looked stunned. “You can't mean…!”

“They're part of the consortium that smuggles narcotics, Max,” he told her flatly. “If you'd come to me in the first place, I would have told you. But you were seeing dollar signs, weren't you?”

She flushed. “It never hurts to make more money.”

“It never hurts to fire people, either,” he said pointedly. “You'd better start looking for another job.”

“You're not serious,” she laughed. “You fire me all the time, but you always call me back.”

He looked resolute. “Not this time,” he said in a cold tone. “You've done enough damage.”

“Me?” She stood up, fuming. “I've done enough damage? What would you call seducing a nineteen-year-old virgin?”

The last word drifted away as she noticed Tony standing fixed in the doorway, with eyes that promised mayhem.

Jared saw him and grimaced.

Tony marched right up to him. “Is it true?” he demanded.

Jared couldn't even find the words.

“That sweet woman,” Tony said coldly, “who never hurt anybody, after the tragedy of her past almost destroyed her, and here you come to put the last nail in her coffin!”

“What do you mean, the tragedy of her past?” Jared asked.

Tony didn't reply. He looked more dangerous at that moment than Jared had ever seen before. “I'll never tell you. And the minute this standoff ends, I'm through. I won't work for a man like you.”

He turned on his heel and went right back to the kitchen.

Max swallowed the hurt. She and Tony had both hit rock bottom, it seemed. “Well, it looks like you and your conscience will have a long time to get to know each other, doesn't it?”

She stopped by the kitchen to ask Tony to drive her to the airport. He agreed curtly. Jared went back into his study and slammed the door. He'd never felt so ashamed in his life.

The next morning, when Sara went to work, she noticed a strange beat-up van in the parking lot. It had been there just as she drove out of the parking lot the day before. In fact, it had pulled in just after Max walked into the bookstore. Sara hadn't seen anybody in it the day before, and she didn't see any people in it now. Maybe it broke down there and the owner had left it until he could get a mechanic to tow it. She went into the bookstore.

“Hi, Dee,” she called.

Dee smiled. “Hi, yourself. I'm off to the bank. Want coffee?”

“I'd love it.”

“I'll pick us up a doughnut apiece, too.” She stopped at the door. “That old van's still there.”

“Maybe it broke down,” Sara murmured.

“I'm amazed anyone would risk driving it in the first place,” Dee chuckled. “I'll be quick.”

“Okay.”

She'd no sooner driven away than three foreign-looking men walked into the bookstore. They glanced at Sara and nodded before they walked down the aisles, one of them peering into Dee's open office.

Sara didn't usually have premonitions, but she felt something odd about the men. She remembered what Max had said about terrorists. These three were tall and swarthy and disreputable-looking. They were wearing jeans and T-shirts, and they had very prominent muscles. She was in the bookstore alone, with no weapons except the pocketknife she used to open boxes with. She wouldn't stand a chance against even one of them, much less three, despite Chief Grier's handy self-defense for women course. She could scream, of course, but the bookstore was temporarily the only business in the strip mall.

They might have been arrested in Victoria, but it was obvious that they'd made bail. She knew the look of the people who lived in her area. These three were from overseas. And she didn't need a program to know why they were in town. They were after Jared. Max had come to the bookstore in a ranch pickup and had a solemn conversation with a woman. They might have had high-tech listening devices. If they knew who Max was, and they'd overheard what she said to Sara, maybe they figured Sara was a softer target than Jared, with his bodyguard.

She pretended not to see them, while her mind worried over possible courses of action. There was one. It was a long shot. If she stabbed herself with the pocketknife and they could see blood, and she pretended to be unconscious and tried to look dead, they might be startled into leaving. It would be risky to carry a wounded woman off for ransom, wouldn't it? Especially if she looked as if she were dying…it would slow everything down.

I'm probably crazy, she told herself. They're just tourists or ranch hands searching for something to read. Right, she added, and that's why they're looking outside to make sure nobody's coming and heading straight for me!

She knew where the appendicitis incision was. It was her best hope of missing any essential organs. They came around the counter, towering over her.

“You come with us,” one of the men said in accented English. “We see you with the lawyer. You are Cameron's woman. He will pay for you.”

“I am nobody's woman. I will die before I go with you!” she said, and, giving up a silent prayer, she jabbed the pocketknife into the incision, through her blouse. “Oooh!” she cried, because it did hurt.

She crumpled to the floor with blood on her hands and shirt. She sighed heavily and held her breath. She looked dead.

The men hesitated. They'd planned well, and now their hostage had committed suicide right in front of them!

While they hesitated, Harley Fowler got out of his truck and headed for the bookstore. He was wearing a sidearm, a six-gun that he carried when he was working fence lines, in case he encountered a rattler or some other dangerous animal. The men made a quick decision. They ran for it. They ran so fast that they almost knocked Harley down in the process.

Harley didn't understand why three men were running for the van. Then he thought about robbery. Sara and Dee were here alone. He darted into the bookstore.

Sara was on the floor, blood pouring from her side. She looked up at Harley, gasping for breath. “It worked,” she mumbled. “I hurt myself, though. Can you call 911 please?”

He grimaced as he saw the blood. “Yes, I can.” He flipped out his cell phone and pushed in the code, holding it to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled Sara's shirt aside and looked at the wound.

He put pressure on it to stop the bleeding and spoke into the cell phone between his shoulder and his ear. He had an ambulance sent to the bookstore. He managed to hold one hand on her wound and close the phone with the other and slide it back into his pocket.

“You'll be all right, Sara,” he told her. “Any man who'd do this to a woman should be shot! I should have stopped them!”

“They didn't do it, Harley, I did,” she said weakly. “They were going to kidnap me. They thought Jared Cameron would pay ransom for me. What a joke!”

“Why would they think that?”

“His lawyer, Max, came to buy me off yesterday,” she said miserably. “They must have followed her here.”

“You aren't making sense.”

The wound hurt. She moved and flinched. “Look at the magazine on the counter, Harley,” she told him. “You'll see.”

“When the paramedics get here, I will,” he replied, but he didn't move his hands. He didn't dare.

Dee and the ambulance arrived at the same time. She ran into the store, red-faced and fearful.

“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “Sara!”

“Three men. They were in that old van, I think,” she told Dee. “They were going to kidnap me for ransom.”

“Ransom? Dear, you must be feverish…”

Harley picked up the magazine and looked at it, frowning as he handed it to Dee.

They exchanged a worried glance.

The paramedics loaded Sara on the gurney.

“I'll go with her,” Harley said. “Dee, you'd better call Cash Grier, in case they come back.”

“I'll do it right now.” She picked up the store phone.

“I'll be all right. Honest,” Sara assured Harley.

He didn't answer. He was too worried.

The wound wasn't bad. Dr. Coltrain had to sew her up. He did it, after giving her a local anesthetic, shaking his head. “Couldn't you have dialed 911?” he asked.

“I'd never have made it to the phone. There were three of them, heavily muscled, with accents, and not Spanish ones. I heard accents like that in Africa,” she whispered.

“Why were they after you?” he asked.

“They were going to take me for ransom.”

“Oh. Who do you know with that kind of money?” Coltrain teased.

“They followed Jared Cameron's lawyer into the bookstore,” she murmured, feeling drowsy now that the excitement was all over. “I guess they thought I had a connection to him that they could exploit. There's an article about him in the new financial magazine. His photo's on the cover. He's down here trying to avoid being kidnapped by South American terrorists who made a try for his oil pipeline.”

“The excitement of living in Jacobsville, Texas,” he replied as he stitched her up. “When I was a kid, this place was like the end of the world. Never any excitement.”

“Maybe he'll go away and we'll get back to normal.”

He only mumbled.

Sara was sitting up on the examination table when Cash Grier walked in.

“Harley said three men attacked you in the bookstore,” he said without preamble. He looked solemn. “Three prisoners escaped from the Victoria jail yesterday about noon. They were Arabic, according to the police chief up there. At least, they spoke what sounded to him like Arabic.”

“Yes,” she replied. “They were in a ratty old van. They followed Jared Cameron's lawyer to the bookstore in one of the ranch trucks. They thought I was important to Mr. Cameron. What a joke!”

He didn't laugh. “Did they say anything to you?”

“Only that they thought I had a connection to him. They must be really desperate for a hostage.”

“Did one of them stab you?” he asked.

She grimaced. “You aren't going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“I stabbed myself. I made them think I was committing suicide. They hesitated when I fell on the floor and pretended to be dead. Then Harley showed up and they cut their losses and ran for it. Good thing Harley was wearing his .45 on his hip today!” she added. “He always does when he rides fence lines.”

Cash's dark eyebrows arched and he smiled gently. “Well, aren't you the mistress of improvisation?” he said with respect.

She grinned. “It seemed the only chance I had. There were three of them. You always said there was no shame in running if you were up against impossible odds.”

“Yes, I did. You spooked them, I gather.”

“Want to hire me?” she asked saucily. “You can teach me how to shoot a gun and next time I won't have to resort to stabbing myself. I can shoot them instead.”

“We've put out a BOLO on the van,” Cash assured her.

“It will stick out,” she said. “It really is ratty.”