Own the Night (2 page)

But when it came to her mom, the end result rarely varied. She’d beat herself up for being weak, throw in the reminder that Eleanor was a psychiatrist, for God’s sake, even without the power accorded all mothers to elevate or scar their children well into adulthood, if not for life. Alana would feel better for a few minutes, but then eventually give in and do what Eleanor wanted.

Might as well wager on a dude ranch halfway across the country, on the off chance she’d actually have fun. Except no one could know, absolutely no one. Image was everything in Alana’s business. Hell, her client base consisted primarily of sophisticated trendsetters and Fortune 500 companies. No, she thought as she clicked on Reservations, not a single person could know. She wouldn’t even tell Pam.

* * *

N
OAH
C
ALDER
STEPPED
OUT
OF
HIS
office and peered down Main Street. The Lemon sisters had finished decorating the
Gazette’
s window for Halloween, and moved on to hanging paper ghosts from the elm tree in the stamp-size park in the center of town.

Normally, he would have gone home by now and left the evening shift to Roy. But it was Friday and the boys from the Circle K and the Double R had been paid earlier. Half of them would end up at the Watering Hole to shoot pool, get drunk, and mostly hang around hoping to get lucky with one of the women staying at the Sundance, who often ducked into the bar.

In general the men behaved themselves, but Noah had promised Rachel McAllister that he’d keep an eye on her guests. Though to his way of thinking, it was the men who needed looking after. Most of the gals who’d been coming to town since the dude ranch opened weren’t the shy type. They knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to ask for it.

A couple of them had scared the hell out of him. Offering to buy him drinks, asking to take him to dinner or to go on moonlit rides… One bold young lady had asked if he’d take her somewhere to go skinny-dipping. And now even his deputies were giving him grief over it.

He turned to look the other way and muttered an oath when he saw Avery Phelps bearing down on him.

“You listen to me, Sheriff, and you listen good.” Flushed from spending too much time sidled up to Sadie’s bar, Avery shuffled down, shaking a scrawny fist in the air. “All this thievery business is on account of those McAllisters. And I ain’t the only one who wants to know what you’re gonna do about it.”

Sighing, Noah shoved Avery’s fist out of his face. He was in no way threatening. In his prime, Avery might have topped off at five-seven, but age had him bent and bow-legged and a foot shorter than Noah. Even so, he knew the old man was harmless. Annoying as hell, generally belligerent, and probably lonely since his wife of fifty years had passed on three winters ago, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Noah met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”

His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.

Hell, Noah didn’t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

“I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”

For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.

Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.

Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.

It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.

“Look at ’em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the
Salina Gazette’
s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.

“Quit pointing.”

Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that
dude
ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids…their poor father is turning over in his grave.”

Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”

Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”

The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”

“Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.

Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.

The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.

“What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.

“Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County was located south, clear down near the Idaho border. Sheriff Moran was old-school and had personally sent the fax.

Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters…that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.

Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.

2

“M
Y
BAGS
?” A
LANA
PROMPTED
when the cabbie pulled his atrocious ancient noisy sedan to the curb and just sat there, gazing out the windshield in apparent admiration of the cheap Halloween decorations that heralded Main Street.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Harvey popped the trunk, then made no move to get out and retrieve her luggage. He simply relaxed against the cracked vinyl upholstery, his impressive paunch testing the buttons of his plaid flannel shirt. “Easiest money I ever made. You gonna need a ride back to the airport later?”

“God, I hope not,” she muttered, and dug in her purse for her wallet.

“What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.

“Your muffler,” she said louder. “It needs replacing.”

He just grinned and nodded.

Guess she was getting her own bag. At least it wasn’t terrifically heavy. She sighed and passed him the fee she’d negotiated for him to drive her the hour and a half to Blackfoot Falls. To be fair, the man wasn’t really a cab driver. She’d arrived at the tiny airport to find one car rental counter, and that was it. Since she didn’t have a driver’s license she supposed she was lucky to have gotten a ride from the rental agent’s brother-in-law.

She climbed out of the car and yanked her bag from the trunk, setting it on its wheels before grabbing her carry-on and laptop, which she nested on top of the bag, anchoring everything securely to the pop-up handle. Normally, she was good at packing. But the last-minute trip and the mad dash to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch her plane had resulted in her purse ending up a catch-all that weighed heavily on her shoulder.

Alana watched Harvey make a U-turn, then sputter down the highway, tufts of disgusting black exhaust in his wake. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her arrival in the awful car, although she’d been careful to have him drop her off at the edge of town. He wasn’t familiar with the Sundance, but she figured that as long as he got her to Blackfoot Falls, that was good enough. She just hoped there was someone around who could give her directions. The place looked deserted.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down the front of her jacket while searching for signs of life. Farther down the street there were several cars parked in front of storefronts, but the place was ungodly quiet for…she checked her watch, did a quick calculation and set the Rolex back to four-thirty, local time.

It wasn’t exactly the dinner hour, so where was everyone? Main Street looked to be about five blocks long, though surprisingly wide, with a small square of grassy semigreen in the middle, its centerpiece a huge tree with most of the leaves gone or faded to autumn-yellow. From the bare branches hung paper ghosts fluttering in the brisk breeze.

Not a single stop sign was in sight and definitely no traffic lights, even though there seemed to be a couple of residential side streets. Closest to her was a gas station, then a gun shop, and next to it a hardware store. Across the street was a video rental place and a pawn shop with a sign indicating the owner was gone for a week.

A number of stores stretched toward the far end of town, but Alana couldn’t make out what they were except perhaps for another gas station. Other than a banner strung between two streetlights announcing the annual fall festival, and the ubiquitous Halloween decorations, the town was rather nondescript. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of the shops had been abandoned, just like the old boarding house in back of her.

Her purse slipped off her shoulder as she noticed a woman and child carrying packages and walking toward a parked truck. As if a button had been pressed, the town seemed to spring to life. A pack of high-school-age kids started making themselves heard from down a long block. Three more pickups turned onto Main Street, one right behind the other, and a short, bowlegged man appeared on the sidewalk, headed in the opposite direction from her. Judging by his gait, Alana guessed he’d just left a bar.

Hell, she wouldn’t mind a cosmo about now herself. She added her purse to the carefully stacked pile of bags, and then grabbed the suitcase handle and started walking, rolling her cargo behind her. By the time she’d made it a block, more people had shown up—a few in cars, but monster-size, dusty pickups appeared to be the vehicle of choice.

The action was clearly centered on the other side of town, so she hadn’t received any curious looks yet. Although three women riding in a green sedan gave her a once-over as they passed. She watched them park and get out, and knew instantly by their tight, trendy clothes that they weren’t locals. Had to be guests from one of the dude ranches in the area.

A few minutes later she got her first friendly wave from a man driving by in a white pickup with heavily tinted windows. Her pulse jumped when she saw the word
Sheriff
emblazoned in bold black letters on the door, but the driver wasn’t the hottie she’d seen in the review pictures. Nevertheless, she watched him pull to the curb, get out and cross the street, then disappear inside the sheriff’s office.

The wheels of her suitcase caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and she turned to give it a tug over the bulging concrete. The rough jerk upset the balance and she nearly lost the case with her laptop. Alana exhaled in relief, made sure stability had been restored, and headed for the green sedan. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to catch a ride with the blondes. Otherwise, she could call the Sundance, ask someone there to send a car for her. Or better yet, why not ask the sheriff for information?

She smiled at the idea. It was a perfectly reasonable thing for a tourist in a strange town to do. Even if said tourist could tell full well the town was too small to offer public transportation. What would be the harm? She’d get a nice close look and see for herself if the reviewers were right about him being all that. Not that she cared about small-town sheriffs, even if they did know how to fill out a uniform.

She picked up her pace, bumping along on the uneven sidewalk, watching more trucks coming down Main Street as if in a parade. They seemed to be headed to the same place, and though she wouldn’t admit it, it was fun seeing all those cowboys pile out as each vehicle parked at the curb. Some of the men wore hats, some didn’t. All were dressed in jeans and Western-cut shirts, and sported cowboy boots.

A few of them spotted her and gave her quick smiles, but they were more interested in the blondes artfully lounging near the sedan. Alana didn’t take offense or give it a second thought. The women had dressed the part of tourists on the prowl, and she hadn’t. Nor would she. She never flirted, acted coy or did any of those things. Even if she wanted to play the helpless, eye-batting, oh-aren’t-you-a-big-strong-man game just for fun, she’d be really bad at it.

She crossed the street and saw the sign for the Watering Hole. Every time the door opened, country music blasted onto the sidewalk. Not only that, but the acrid smell of smoke was enough to choke a horse, and she was still half a block away. Guess she’d skip that place.

Too late, she realized she shouldn’t have crossed yet. Groups of cowboys gathered outside the bar, smoking, talking or just plain gawking at the three women. Next door was a bank, with people coming and going, and in general, crowding the sidewalk.

The sheriff’s office was only three doors down, so Alana stayed her course, weaving her way through the bottleneck.

“You staying at the Sundance?”

The gravelly voice sounded as if it came from behind her. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, finding only an alley that seemed to lead to a dirt parking lot. The cowboys in front of the bar were talking among themselves; a couple of them were flirting with the women. No one paid her any attention.

“Over here.”

She turned the other way and saw a tall, trim, older man with graying hair leaning against a post. His cowboy hat was pulled too low for her to see his eyes, and though the corners of his thin lips slowly lifted, it wasn’t a particularly friendly smile.

“Yes,” she said, noting that his boots were newer, expensive looking, and he was better dressed than the others. “Are you affiliated with the Sundance?”

His smirk turned a shade nasty. “Hell, no.”

“Ah, then never mind.”

“Sorry, miss…” He put out a weathered hand. “Didn’t mean anything by that.”

She stared at his fingers, brown and wrinkled from the sun, unsure what he expected from her.

After a long, awkward moment, he shoved both hands in his pockets. “You need help with anything? Directions, maybe?” He was showing lots of teeth now, suddenly a picture of charm, his voice silky smooth. “How about a drink?”

Her lips parted but her voice failed her. Dear God, this man could not be hitting on her. He was old enough to be her father. Helplessly, she cast a gaze at the cute young cowboys several yards away. They were focused on the blondes.

“No, thank you,” she said finally, and flexed her fingers. They’d started to ache from pulling all her stuff. “I was just headed for the sheriff’s office.”

“Is there a problem?”

Her patience slipped, and she glanced pointedly at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks for the offer.” She felt for the baggage handle, finding nothing but a brisk breeze that made her pull the lapels of her blazer together.

He lightly touched her arm. “You have a ride to the Sundance?”

She wouldn’t go with him, that was for sure. “Excuse me, please.”

A loud noise came from inside the bar—of glass shattering, someone yelling. It sounded as if an entire tray of drinks had crashed to the floor. Everyone’s attention jerked toward the open door, and one of the cowboys hollered out something to Sheila, presumably a waitress, who responded with a salty curse.

Alana smiled and again reached behind her for her luggage handle. Again all she found was air. She jerked around.

And blinked.

What the hell? She made a complete circle. Her suitcase, her purse, her laptop…they were all gone. That couldn’t be. Her hand had been resting on the handle just a moment ago. This was crazy.

She spun around again, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. A red truck was parked at the curb a couple feet away. She glanced in the bed, then checked the pickup parked close behind it. Panicked, she turned and looked up the alley, but there was nothing there.

“Dammit!”

This cannot be happening.

Frantic, she scanned the crowd, spotting the older man who’d talked to her walking in the direction she’d come from. “Sir, wait.”

He ignored her and kept going, but then her voice barely carried above the music coming from the bar.

In fact, no one seemed to have heard her except a cowboy in a tan shirt, who swung her an inquiring look.

“That man,” she said, pointing and hurrying toward the older gentleman, pushing her way through the crowd.

“Mr. Gunderson?” The cowboy frowned, but just when she thought he would ignore her, too, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Gunderson.”

The older man stopped, his posture erect and imposing, and he slowly turned around, his mouth a hard, thin line. He obviously wasn’t someone who appreciated being summoned, and judging by the sudden tension radiating from the crowd, it didn’t happen very often.

She felt a dozen pairs of curious eyes boring into her as she approached him. “My bags,” she said. “They were right next to me while I was talking to you.”

With his forefinger, he pushed back the brim of his hat. He had icy, piercing blue eyes, almost lifeless. He might’ve been an attractive man at one time, but he had a hard, cynical look that left her cold. “What about them?”

“They’re gone. Did you see anything? Someone had to have come up behind me while we were talking....”

“Can’t say that I did.” He gave her a cool smile, then started to walk away.

She caught his arm. “You must have.”

He peered purposefully at her restraining hand, shook it off and said, “I believe I just told you I didn’t.”

Was he being a bastard because she’d turned him down for a drink? She tensed her shoulders, tempted to hurl an accusation at him. If he hadn’t seen anything, then maybe he was involved. “Really?”

His eyebrows rose slightly in challenge. “Really.”

Damn him. “All right.” She adjusted her lapels, keeping her gaze level with his, furious that her hands shook a little. But only because she was angry and helpless, and she really would’ve loved to knock this guy down a few pegs. “The name’s Gunderson, right? I’ll need it for the police report.”

His mouth twitched into an oily smile. “Wallace Gunderson. Everyone in Blackfoot Falls knows me.”

“I bet they do,” she said sweetly, her eyes telling him a different story. “I imagine we’ll be speaking again soon.”

“Looking forward to it.” He touched the brim of his hat and strolled across the street toward a big luxury SUV.

She muttered a strong, unflattering oath, and spun toward the sheriff’s office.

* * *

“F
OR
G
OD
’
S
SAKE
, R
OY
,
THE
guy’s got over forty years on you. How the hell could you let him get away?” Noah yanked off his hat and pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “Go make sure his truck is still there. Block it off if you have to.”

“Cripes, boss, you know that old son of a gun is as wily as a fox staking out a henhouse. The darn varsity kids were out making a nuisance and, well, it could’ve happened to any of us.”

“Just go. Avery shouldn’t be driving.”

His face flushed, the deputy swung open the door just as a woman was about to enter the office. She was tall, taller than Roy, who muttered an apology for nearly running her over.

She seemed unfazed as she slipped past him and met Noah’s eyes. “Are you the sheriff?”

Damn it all to hell. Not another one. Those women from the Sundance didn’t quit. This made three in two days, barging in, pretending she needed help with one thing or another. He’d begged Rachel to pull the silly reviews and pictures of him off her website, but she claimed they were good for business. He was gonna have to start working on his computer skills so he could hack in and do it himself.