Run Wild (22 page)

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS said blandly.

Natasha spotted the small but clean-looking bungalow-style home in the middle of the block. Pulling up in front of it, she turned off the truck and took a moment to gather her thoughts and figure out what she would say.

It had been her uncle Greg’s idea for Natasha to return north and do some hunting on her own. Although he’d told her it would be a good exercise and practical for her to do some fieldwork, Natasha knew if he could drop everything and come up here himself, he would have done it in a second. Uncle Greg was as worried about his brother as she was her father.

Uncle Greg had left L.A. on more than one occasion to hunt down a criminal. Times were different now, though. Marc and Jake weren’t with KFA anymore. It was just her aunt and uncle running all their cases these days and training new bounty hunters.

Natasha took one final look at the nice cozy home of Sandra Burrows, Jim Burrows’ ex. She wasn’t going to get any answers sitting there.

Trent Oakley entered her thoughts, and she hesitated another moment before opening the truck door. He’d been on her mind nonstop since she left him. Her stomach had been twisted in anticipation knowing she was coming back to his part of the country. Of course, Trent thought she was in L.A. The tracking device she’d found in her purse was sitting on her dresser at home.

At least now she knew what Matilda had been doing when she’d been going through Natasha’s luggage. That little device had pissed her off at first. She hadn’t mentioned it to Uncle Greg or Aunt Haley. Before she left, she wasn’t as upset about it. Especially when she realized leaving it at home would make Trent think she was still in L.A. It served the good sheriff right thinking she was still home, when she was actually back up here trying to prove her dad’s innocence.

Natasha had spent the evening at her aunt and uncle’s house, munching on pizza and drinking beer. They had given her an awesome pep talk and good pointers on how to investigate. Natasha saw that they’d been right. She didn’t do well in situations where her world wasn’t in order. It was why she did so well running the office, and why she sent men packing when they got too close.

Aunt Haley and Uncle Greg had both pointed out fieldwork often got sloppy before the answer became clear. With their analogies, Natasha couldn’t help wondering if they had guessed something had sparked between her and the sheriff. She tried not to mention him too much, and when she did, with casual indifference. They told her even when all evidence suggested someone’s guilt, if she knew in her gut they were innocent, then the proof would come to her. She just had to be patient and take an honest look at everything around her.

People weren’t always as they appeared. Evidence wasn’t always cut and dried. But sometimes, the proof she needed might be right before her eyes. She needed an open mind and to remain alert always.

Her aunt had hugged Natasha after she told both of them she would drive up to northern California again the following morning. It was four in the morning when she left, and before she did, Aunt Haley had whispered in Natasha’s ear, Don’t give up when it feels right in your heart. Natasha knew she hadn’t been talking about proving her father innocent.

After hashing out a plan, going over everything they knew so far about her father’s situation, Natasha drove the mile or so to her apartment, where she’d packed every warm piece of clothing she owned, and dropped the tracking device on her dresser.

Natasha grabbed her scarf and wrapped it around her neck before getting out of the truck. A smug grin played at her lips. Let Trent think she was in L.A. At least now she might get some answers without him showing up and distracting her so she couldn’t think straight.

Natasha hurried up to the house, ducking against a bitter wind that burned her cheeks and hands almost instantly. It killed her knuckles when she knocked on the door. She stuffed her hand in the heavy coat she’d brought from home. It was the heaviest one she owned and she was still frozen. She wouldn’t make it another day up here without buying a much heavier coat.

The door opened almost immediately and a woman about Natasha’s age stared at her a moment, her expression bordering on hostile.

“I’m Natasha King,” she said, trying to talk with her teeth chattering. “Sandra Burrows agreed to talk to me.”

For a moment she thought the woman would close the door in her face. Finally, when Natasha was so cold she almost barged into the warm home, the lady opened the door farther and stepped to the side.

“Why do you want to talk to my mom?”

Natasha stepped inside and pulled her numb hands from her pockets, gripped her scarf, but held it to her neck for a moment.

“And you are?” Natasha asked, keeping her tone pleasant.

“Not pleased that you’re here,” the woman snapped. She closed and locked the door, then wrapped a short curl of mousy brown hair behind her ear as she narrowed catlike eyes on Natasha. “Why do you want to see my mom?”

Natasha remembered the Burrowses had six children, two girls and four boys. The oldest, Rebecca, was twenty-four. Natasha guessed she was looking at Rebecca now. Sandra’s other daughter was the youngest of the six children and was eighteen. Natasha remembered being shocked to learn the Burrowses had six kids all so close in age, two of the boys, who were now men, being twins. Sandra Burrows deserved better than her marriage ending in divorce and her ex-husband now being married to a much younger woman, who was now pregnant with his seventh child.

“She very kindly agreed to meet with me,” Natasha told Rebecca, repeating all the advice her uncle had given her concerning talking to Sandra Burrows. Natasha hoped it worked on her daughter as well: remain humble, be incredibly grateful, and maintain the impression that Natasha believed her father was a murderer and was simply searching for closure.

“And agreed to meet with you before talking to me about it.” The young lady ignored Natasha’s request for an introduction. Nor did Rebecca appear willing to escort Natasha farther into the house, since she remained booted with her back to the front door, scowling at Natasha.

“You must be Natasha King.” A woman approached from behind, her low heels making soft thudding sounds on the thick carpet.

Natasha turned her back on the hostile young lady and smiled politely at the friendly-looking middle-aged woman approaching her.

“I’m Sandra Burrows.” She extended both hands in greeting.

“Natasha King,” Natasha said, holding both her hands out and letting Sandra hold them for a moment with warm, soft hands. “Thank you so much for letting me come over.”

“No problem. You said Ethel wouldn’t see you?”

Natasha noticed the sudden eagerness in Sandra’s voice and expression. She didn’t mind the small white lie since it got her in the door. Sandra didn’t live at the ranch anymore, but she had lived there for forty-two years and would know a lot of the ranch hands and other employees on her ex-husband’s payroll.

“No, ma’am. And as I told you on the phone, my father and I aren’t exactly close. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” she added, trailing off.

“Rebecca, would you mind bringing us all coffee?” Sandra asked the young woman behind Natasha once they were in a small living room.

“What am I now, hired help?” Rebecca snapped.

“Please,” Sandra said, her tone remaining calm and pleasant sounding.

Rebecca looked like she would start blowing smoke out of her ears. Her hands were balled in fists at her sides when she spun around and left the two of them in the living room.

“Please, be seated.” Sandra gestured as she took a comfortable-looking, well-padded rocking chair in the corner of the living room. “And don’t mind Rebecca. She has a lot of anger to work through still. She feels her father betrayed her.”

“Divorce is hard.” Natasha took a spot on the couch at the end closest to Sandra.

“Honestly, Rebecca is possibly the only one of my children who was happy we divorced.” Sandra glanced down at her hands and clasped them together in her lap.

Aunt Haley had told Natasha the best way to keep a conversation moving between two strangers was to go along with whatever the other person wished to talk about, especially if it was connected in any way to what she needed to find out. Natasha wasn’t sure how the Burrows children’s reaction to their parents’ divorcing might be related to her father being wanted for murder, but Sandra seemed willing to share. Natasha was better at listening than leading the conversation where she wanted it to go anyway. She hoped she would be here long enough to touch all bases and gather as much information as she could to help piece together the picture around Carl Williams’ death and possibly connect some other suspects to it.

“She must be very loyal to you,” Natasha offered, not having a clue what else to say. It was a hell of a lot easier gathering information off a computer than from a person.

Sandra laughed, then looked at the doorway when Rebecca appeared with a tray in her hands. She looked wary when she entered the living room and placed the tray on the coffee table.

“Who is loyal?” she asked, remaining focused on her mother when she lifted one of the coffee mugs steaming with hot coffee and handed it to her. “Who are you loyal to?” she demanded.

“Not me, dear. You,” Sandra said, smiling at her daughter’s scowl and accepting the coffee. Then possibly guessing that Rebecca wouldn’t ask, Sandra looked at Natasha and nodded at the coffeepot and remaining mugs on the tray. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Black.” Natasha leaned forward, anxious for a hot, steamy mug, but didn’t want to appear rude.

“Did you tell her I was loyal to Daddy?” Rebecca pressed, her expression paling.

Aunt Haley had been right. Once the questions and answers began, curiosity would motivate Natasha and she would know what to say.

“I suggested you were loyal,” Natasha offered.

Rebecca spun around, her soft brown curls bouncing around her face. The harsh animosity etched deep into her expression stole so much of her natural beauty away.

“Your mother was just telling me how the divorce didn’t bother you,” Natasha continued before Rebecca chewed her ass or, worse yet, kicked her out. She looked fit to be tied. “I see how upset you are that I’m here and told your mother divorce is hard. I didn’t want my presence in your home and asking questions about your ranch hands upsetting you.”

Rebecca grabbed an upright wooden chair that had been pushed up against the wall. She lifted it and placed it next to her mother. Once Rebecca was seated, her hand resting on her mother’s knee, she gave Natasha a scrutinizing once-over.

“Mom will get used to the single life.”

Her words were so determined, almost harsh, Natasha straightened. The young woman, who was her age, stared at her with enough anger to create hard, deep lines on her forehead and around her mouth. They made her look a lot older than she was.

“Help yourself to coffee.” She nodded at the tray, where there was still one full mug and steam was still rolling off of it.

Natasha didn’t care if she appeared greedy when she leaned forward and snatched it up. She’d just endured a ten-hour road trip, for the third time in almost a week, and hadn’t taken time to check into her hotel room before coming to meet Sandra Burrows. She was stiff, tired, and frozen.

“Thank you,” she said, sipped, then hummed her approval of the rich, tasty brew. “Good coffee,” she added, nodding and sipping again. “You’re lucky to have two good parents,” she began, directing the conversation toward the Burrowses and their ranch.

“Two good parents?” Rebecca stood, her face turning red. “My father was, and is, an ass.”

Natasha wasn’t ready for that one. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time Rebecca had made such an announcement. Sandra seemed to sag in the chair behind Rebecca.

“Do you know how many bastards he has running around Weaverville?” she asked, her voice dropping a full octave as venom dripped from her words. “I’m not sure even I know all of them. But Carl Williams was his bastard son. Did you know that?”

Natasha opened her mouth, although she was speechless.

“Of course you didn’t. No one knew. I have half a mind to announce it to the world. Let him try and deny it. He’ll be too busy doing damage control when suddenly good old Sheriff Oakley isn’t so convinced about their murderer.”

“Who do you think murdered him?” Natasha asked, the question falling out of her mouth before she could stop it. She was still reeling over the news Rebecca had just dropped in her lap.

Rebecca shrugged but smiled, although happiness was the last emotion registering in her eyes. “It’s hard saying. I’m just really glad we finally got Mom out of that three-ring circus. Pat O’Reilly is another one of his bastards.”

“Pat O’Reilly?”

Rebecca nodded. “Another ranch hand. Maybe he’ll be murdered next,” she added, changing her voice to a whisper. She looked as if she was getting ready to tell a spooky story. “The last thing my daddy wants is for everyone knowing how many bastards he has running around. That wouldn’t look good for Trinity Ranch. Like anyone cares about that cow-shit-covered stretch of land.”

“Rebecca,” her mother scolded.

“It’s true, Mom.” Rebecca spun around, pain mixing in her hostile tone. “Who’s to say what he might do to keep the honor and integrity alive, at least in his lying eyes? He’ll do anything so the world will always believe Trinity Ranch is the most successful in the state.”