Run Wild (39 page)

Natasha reached out, touched Trent’s arm, then pulled her fingers back. “Please, just let me talk to him first.” It was sickening knowing she didn’t have a voice in this matter. Trent was the sheriff of Trinity County. She couldn’t interfere with an investigation, no matter who was being hunted down.

“We’ll talk to him together.”

*   *   *

Less than ten minutes later Trent pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. Natasha immediately scanned the cars parked there for any sign of someone loading up and getting ready to leave.

It made no sense. When she and Trent had left Trinity Ranch, her mind had been whirling with bits of information that all just needed to be pieced together, now it was more like a tornado. Her thoughts were running rampant in her brain, leaving her feeling dizzy and exhausted.

She wanted to threaten Trent, warn him he’d better behave around her father. She had brought a lot of information to the table with this case. He owed her this. He owed her time with her dad, to talk to him and to hear what he had to say.

When had her father ever shared his thoughts with her?

Damn. Natasha fought the urge to drop her head in her hands and have a good cry. All those wonderful pieces of the puzzle were being slam-dunked at her, and she was dodging them, or at least felt as if she was. Maybe all of this was just too damn personal for her to see the picture accurately in order to piece it all together.

“Dad!” Natasha sat up straight, all her jumbled thoughts dissipating the moment she saw her father crossing the parking lot.

“Where?” Trent demanded, but then saw George without Natasha having to point. “Okay. We’re both going to be cool here, all right?”

Natasha wouldn’t be able to handle Trent informing her yet once again how she should behave. It was her turn to inform him a thing or two. But then, it was her turn to take the lead in several areas when it came to her sheriff.

Her sheriff?

Natasha wasn’t going to go there right now.

“You be cool,” she snapped, and opened her passenger door before he’d put the truck in park and jumped out.

Her coat was loose on her, since the heater in Trent’s Suburban worked so well. She immediately yanked it up over her shoulders as she darted around cars toward her father.

“Dad!” she yelled.

George had a suitcase in each hand and was walking away from her toward a group of parked cars. Natasha didn’t recognize any of them. He looked over his shoulder, saw her, and she swore he cursed. Then he turned and moved faster toward the cars.

He was not going to walk out of her life, yet again, this time before speaking with her.

“Dad!” she yelled louder, her voice fierce when she called out to him. “Don’t you dare run,” she shouted, not giving a damn at the moment who might hear her. Although she hadn’t seen anyone else in the parking lot.

Her father reached a small green Honda and adjusted his suitcases so one was under his arm and he held the other by the handle. Natasha wasn’t sure what he dished out of his pocket. She hauled ass, though, coming up behind him just as the Honda beeped and its headlights and taillights flashed once as he unlocked it. The trunk popped open, and George carried the two suitcases to the back of the car.

Natasha stopped, placing her hand on the roof of the car as she stood on the driver’s side. She wasn’t a child anymore and her father wouldn’t get into the car without moving her out of the way, which she just dared him to try to do.

“We need to talk,” she said, meeting his gaze over the top of the trunk when he placed the bags inside and began lowering it.

“Why did you bring the sheriff, Natasha?” George sounded reserved, worried.

“We were together.” She shrugged. “We were at Trinity Ranch,” she specified. “When I found out you were here I knew I didn’t have time to get the Avalanche and drive here.” She nodded at the trunk as he closed it. “And I was right.”

Trent walked up to join them, his body stiff, his movements cautious. He looked ready to pounce if needed, once again the dangerous predator and, with or without the uniform, a sheriff to be reckoned with.

Natasha returned her attention to her dad, who was also watching Trent and looking as if he might pounce as well any moment. Lord, it was a male showdown, testosterone at its peak. Her father was in better shape than he’d been in years.

“Dad, he isn’t here to arrest you,” Natasha offered.

Her father looked at her, then returned his attention to the sheriff. “Are you here to arrest me?” George asked.

“I guess that all just depends,” Trent drawled, his voice a few notches lower than usual.

Natasha gave him a scathing glare. Trent kept his attention on her father.

“Dad,” Natasha said, taking a step toward him.

Her father looked at her but continued shooting cautious glances toward Trent as if he didn’t trust what the man’s next move might be. Natasha wanted to yell at her father to relax. She wanted to order Trent back to the Suburban. Neither man would listen to her though, which made her want to scream. But she was here, her father stood in front of her, and it was do-or-die right now.

“Dad,” she repeated. “Where were you the morning Carl Williams was killed?”

“What?” Her dad looked at her as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“Tell me where you were,” she started. “Dad, look at me. Just me!” she barked, taking a step to the side, closer to her father, and forcing him to turn his head in her direction and not at Trent. “He’s not going to leap through the air!” she cried out when her father continued watching Trent. “I told you, he simply brought me here. He isn’t here to arrest you.”

“And I suppose he always has handcuffs looped to his jeans and a gun strapped to his side.” Her father pointed at Trent.

Natasha looked at Trent. It hit her then. She’d broken into a full run, darting across the parking lot to stop her father before he could leave without talking to her first. Trent easily could have outrun her and reached her father before she had. But Trent had been more than a few paces behind her. She stared at the handcuffs clipped to his jeans and, on the other side of his waist, a gun in a holster he hadn’t been wearing earlier. He’d held back for a few seconds to put those things on before following her over here.

Trent’s expression was hard, calculated, and when he slowly shifted his attention from her father to her Natasha stared into the eyes of a man determined to see his job out to the letter of the law. How many times had she seen that same hardened glaze in her uncle’s eyes, even her aunt’s and her cousins’? It was the look of a lawman, sworn to uphold the law under all circumstances. And Trent would do just that, based on what her father said now and regardless of how she felt about it.

As much as Natasha wanted to hate Trent at the moment, in her heart she knew she didn’t, which somehow made it hurt even more. Regardless of what he might be feeling toward her, he accepted that his job came first.

She looked away from him, her eyes burning. Her family came first, and for the life of her she never thought in a million years that would create a conflict.

“Dad,” she said softly. “If you aren’t guilty, there’s no reason to arrest you, right?”

“My fingerprints are all over Carl’s body.” Her father did look at her now and she saw the desperation in his eyes. For weeks now this had been his nightmare, fear, panic, that he might go down for a crime he didn’t commit.

“Why were your finger prints all over his body?” she asked.

“Because I tried to take him down,” her father hissed. “That boy hanging up there,” he began, and his large body shuddered. “You didn’t see it. And pictures don’t hold a flame to how he looked, how he smelled,” George stressed. “To how his body swayed, or to how blood continued dripping to the ground, one repetitive drip after the other.”

Natasha hugged herself, feeling the pain the sight of that boy had brought to her father. At the time he’d had no clue his life would get any worse than it probably had been seeing the mutilated body and reacting to it.

“I know it must have been horrible.”

“Horrible?” Her father laughed, although there was no humor in it. His light brown eyes, a shade or so darker than hers, were glassy when he looked down at her. “‘Horrible’ doesn’t define it. Ethel wouldn’t quit screaming. The ranch hands were barely awake and can’t figure out how to zip up their own trousers in the morning before they’ve downed at least several cups of coffee.”

He shook his head, grunted, and Natasha wanted to walk into his arms. She wanted to hold him, assure him the pain of it all would pass. But she had a job to do, it fell on her shoulders, and since neither man would budge, Natasha wasn’t going to stop until she’d done it. She was going to prove her father’s innocence.

“Dad, I believe you. You tried to get him down. But forensics show the angle of your fingerprints on him weren’t right.” She hesitated, trying to figure out how best to explain what the tests had shown.

“I see.” He straightened, his expression hardening. “My sweet little girl, you’re in over your head, baby. Go home. This isn’t your fight.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she snapped. “There’s no more sending me home, or to my room so you can slip out without seeing me cry because my father has left, once again.”

Her words might as well have been a slap across the face. Her father’s expression tightened, and he looked at her as if she were someone he didn’t know. Natasha forged ahead, having said that much. If she didn’t finish this out, she would just look stupid for complaining she didn’t have the picture-perfect father.

“And since you won’t fight, it becomes my fight,” she informed him, dropping her hands to her sides and squaring off, stepping closer to her dad. “Because that is how a family is. You’re going to explain and you aren’t going to quit talking until you’ve satisfied me, and the sheriff over there, that you aren’t guilty of anything that can get you arrested.”

Her father narrowed his gaze on hers, and for a moment she thought he would shoot her down, as he always had. Instead he sighed, shook his head, and gave her what might have been a smile, except there wasn’t much to smile about at the moment.

“You’re one hell of a lady, Natasha,” he said, meaning it. “Perfect in every way. Not like your old man. Not a bit. But sweetheart, these guys are too good. They’ve washed away their tracks, played all their cards right. And I’ve always been a man to know when it’s smarter to fold than to press on and go broke. Maybe that is one thing I can teach you.”

“How to be a coward and give up because the road ahead is too rocky? No thanks, Dad. I’ll pass on that lesson. Who is so good they’ve covered all their tracks?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, and looked from her to Trent. “There were some things going on and I’m afraid Carl was simply a distraction from the true crimes happening. Damn shame, too. That boy didn’t deserve to die. He wasn’t in their way and wouldn’t have done a thing to stop them.”

“Dad, who?” Natasha shouted, quickly losing her patience with her father talking in circles, especially when his life depended on clearing things up. “What was going on at that ranch?”

“A few of them were getting ready to take old Burrows down, baby. But there isn’t any proof,” he added hastily, turning to Trent as he continued. “There’s no way I can verify a damn thing I’m telling you. I know what I know from hearing them talk. Ethel was scared.” He stopped then and looked at Natasha. “I know what you think of her, sweetheart, but she isn’t a bad lady. She had it rough and an extra bit of security is important to her.”

“I don’t want to hear you defend her, Dad.” Natasha sliced her hand through the air. “She’s
Mrs. Burrows,
” she stressed.

Her father actually looked appropriately chastised. “You’re right,” he whispered.

“Cut the crap, Dad. You are who you are. I prayed every night when I was growing up that you’d change, want to be a family man, to be my father,” she snapped, but then pressed her fingers to her head. They were surprisingly cold, especially since her head felt as if it were on fire. This wasn’t about them or their lack of a family unit. Her father was who he was. “The past is just that, Dad. But today, tonight, right here, I will not walk away from you. I will stand here and remain here until there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re innocent.” She walked into her father, slapped her palm against his chest.

Her dad flinched, tried to take her hand in his. Natasha pulled away.

“What were those things doing hidden in the cabin?”

Her father frowned. “What things?”

Natasha studied him, unsure how far he’d go to protect Ethel. “Why did Ethel use her great-aunt’s security box at the bank?” She tried a different angle. “Did you help her dig up the grave?”

“Grave?” Natasha’s father took a step back, his eyes widening. “No one dug up any grave,” he insisted, slicing his hand through the air. “Ethel isn’t guilty of a damn thing.”

Natasha shook her head. “Why are you defending her?” She nodded at the trunk. “You were going to leave her, too. Take off like you have on any woman the moment she wanted to know what your favorite meal was,” she spit out sardonically.

“I was leaving here to go get her, Natasha.” Her father’s expression turned grave. “Shit’s going to hit the fan on that ranch. I told you this isn’t your fight. Well, it sure as hell isn’t my or Ethel’s fight, either. Yes, before you ask, she did call to let me know the two of you had just left the ranch. She wasn’t sure if you were coming here, but I knew. You’ll always fight until your last breath, sweetheart. I just hope someday you learn to look around and see some people aren’t meant to fight but to love.”