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When he finished, McCall said, “Where is this suitcase with the money in it?”

  “It’s in my truck behind the seat.”

  “Let’s go get it,” the sheriff said.

  While he dug out the suitcase, she stood behind him.

  “If you don’t mind, you can put it in my car,” she said, opening the passenger side door of the SUV for him to load the suitcase. “Then I’d like to have a look around your house. With your permission.”

  “Fine with me,” he said as he led her back to the house. As they entered, he told her, “There’s a broken lamp on the other side of the bed. I have no idea how it got broken.”

  “And the cell phone you found under the bed?” she asked.

  Reluctantly, he produced it from his pocket.

  She raised a brow when she saw that he’d placed it in a sandwich bag—and that it had what she must recognize as blood on it.

  “The blood belongs to Courtney Baxter, although that’s not her legal name, according to her mother. It’s Courtney Hughes.”

  The sheriff didn’t seem surprised at that news. “You should have come to me right away.”

  “I knew even less then than I do now. I wanted to find Courtney first.”

  McCall looked around the small house, going into the bedroom last. The covers on the bed were still rumpled; everything looked as it had when he’d awakened from what he now thought of as his mystery date from hell.

  He watched McCall awkwardly bend down to look under the bed, saw her freeze and felt his heart drop. What of interest could possibly be under the bed? There’d been nothing under there when he’d found the phone.

  She rose long enough to pull on latex gloves, then bent down again to pull out a red dress—the dress Courtney Baxter had been wearing when she’d appeared at his door two nights before.

  Even from the bedroom doorway, he saw the dark stains on the silken fabric. More blood.

  “That wasn’t under the bed when I left here yesterday,” he said, his denial sounding hollow, his voice tight with dread. “I’m being set up. I swear to you… .”

  McCall pushed herself to her feet and turned to face him. The rest of his words died off as he saw her expression.

  “Zane Chisholm. You have the right to remain silent,” she began as she bagged the dress, then reached for her handcuffs.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma looked forward to trips into Whitehorse even though Mrs. Crowley was far from a fun companion. She spoke little and became irritated quickly if Emma tried to force conversation.

  But being a recluse, Mrs. Crowley made it easy for Emma to have some free time away from everyone. It was their secret that Mrs. Crowley dropped her off to do her errands and picked her up hours later. For that Emma was eternally grateful.

  Hoyt would have a fit if he knew. But Emma felt safe in Whitehorse. She still carried a pistol in her purse and kept on the lookout for anyone who didn’t seem familiar.

  It hadn’t taken long to tell the locals from the occasional tourist passing through town. Whitehorse didn’t get a lot of tourists. Most people came to Montana to see the mountains, towering pine trees and clear, fast streams. They had little interest in the rolling prairie, which was short on mountains, pines and streams.

  Today though, Emma found herself wondering where Mrs. Crowley spent those free hours. The housekeeper never complained. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the time alone. Or maybe she just enjoyed being shed of Emma after the twenty-mile trip into town.

  Emma knew she talked too much. But after being around so many men at the ranch, she was thankful to find herself in a woman’s company—even Mrs. Crowley. She was excited at the idea of spending some hours on her own. The past year had been difficult. She had always been extremely independent. Being tied down and required to always have someone with her had been hell for her.

  Not that she ever regretted marrying Hoyt. That was why she tried hard not to complain. This wasn’t his fault, and she didn’t want him blaming himself.

  Today she had thoroughly enjoyed herself in town and was almost sorry when Mrs. Crowley pulled up in the truck for the ride home.

  As she climbed into the passenger side, she noticed that Mrs. Crowley looked disheveled, which was completely out of character. Also the cab of the pickup smelled odd. She glanced more closely at the woman behind the wheel.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, taking in the death grip the housekeeper had on the steering wheel.

  “I’m fine,” Mrs. Crowley snapped.

  Emma bit her tongue; however, she couldn’t help noticing that there was dirt under the woman’s fingernails. How odd.

  It wasn’t until she got out of the truck at the ranch that she saw the shovel in the pickup bed. It was covered with dark soil.

  * * *

  ZANE THOUGHT ABOUT USING his one phone call to contact the ranch lawyer. Instead, he called Dakota.

  “I’ve been arrested,” he said the moment she answered her cell. “When I got back to the house, the sheriff was waiting for me. She found something under the bed that wasn’t there yesterday.”

  “What was it?” Dakota asked, sounding scared.

  “It was the dress Courtney was wearing the night she showed up at my door. Dakota, it looks like there is blood on it.”

  “Oh, Zane. You’re sure the dress wasn’t under the bed when you found the phone?”

  “Positive.” He never locked his house. Hardly anyone around Whitehorse did. But he mentally kicked himself for not thinking to do it yesterday when they’d left. He had made it too easy for whoever was trying to frame him. He’d thought the damage was already done. He’d been wrong about that.

  “Someone is definitely setting me up. I’m just scared that something has happened to Courtney. Could you call my dad? I used my one call to phone you.”

  “Of course. And I’ll follow up on that receipt we found behind the bureau.”

  “No, don’t. Please. It’s too dangerous. Whoever is behind this…I’m afraid they’re playing for keeps.”

  “You think Courtney is dead.” Her voice broke and he could hear how scared she was that it was true.

  “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I heard as I was being led into the sheriff’s department that Courtney’s car was found in a ravine south of town. That was apparently why the sheriff was waiting at my house. I think McCall found more evidence against me in the car.” He hesitated. “There’s something else, Dakota. Doc called me. The DNA test results? Courtney is your sister.”

  * * *

  DAKOTA HUNG UP, SHAKEN by the news. Zane in jail on possible murder charges. Courtney was her half sister—just as she’d claimed. And now she might be dead, her car in a ravine and more evidence against Zane in it?

  She felt a sense of panic mixed with worry and heartfelt pain. She hadn’t trusted Courtney. Still didn’t. All she could hope was that her sister was alive and behind some scheme to make it appear Zane had done her harm.

  It still made no sense. Courtney wouldn’t take sibling rivalry this far. There had to be more to this.

  Dakota reminded herself that her sister wasn’t working alone. Who was this other person? Her birth mother?

  She shuddered at the thought of Courtney’s bloody dress being found under Zane’s bed. Whoever was setting him up was building a strong case against him.

  Dakota hurriedly called the Chisholm ranch, anxious to let Emma and Hoyt know what was going on so they could get Zane a good lawyer.

  A woman answered the phone, her voice a little gravelly. “Chisholm Ranch, Mrs. Crowley speaking.”

  Mrs. Crowley? Zane hadn’t mentioned anyone by that name. “I’m calling for Hoyt Chisholm.”

  “I’m sorry, he isn’t in. May I take a message?”

  Dakota heard someone ask, “Who is it?” then “I’ll take it, Mrs. Crowley.”

  “Hello? This is Emma Chisholm, can I help you?”

  Dakota introduced herself and quickly told her what had happened. “I’m sorry to ha
ve to tell you this over the phone.”

  “No, I appreciate you calling for Zane. It’s just that…I’m shocked,” Emma said.

  “I’m sure Zane will fill you in on everything that’s happened. You’ll make sure his lawyer is called?”

  “Of course. Thank you for letting me know.”

  Dakota hung up, unable to shake her fear for Zane—and Courtney. The way this was escalating, she couldn’t believe Courtney had known what she was getting into.

  As she glanced around the empty ranch house, she realized that she was spooked. She’d never been scared living out here so far from any other houses. The ranch had always been a safe place.

  Until Courtney showed up, she thought with a shiver.

  Zane had told her not to drive to Zortman and talk to the bartender, but when she considered all the evidence stacking up against him, she knew she couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

  She didn’t believe for an instant that Zane would hurt Courtney. It scared her though. If Courtney’s car had been found and there was even more incriminating evidence in it… Was Courtney still alive? She shuddered at the thought that it might be too late for the sister she hadn’t even gotten to know. Ultimately, blood was thicker than water. Whoever was behind this was going to pay.

  Dakota reached for her purse. Maybe she couldn’t save her sister; maybe no one could. But she would move heaven and hell to prove that Zane was innocent of this. She’d never been to the Miner’s Bar in Zortman, but she’d heard stories about how rough it was when the gold mine had been up and running.

  Still, she knew it would be at least a while before the ranch attorney could get Zane before a judge, and there was always the chance he wouldn’t be able to make bail.

  Dakota feared that whoever was behind this would be tying up any loose ends. If Courtney was still alive, then Dakota had to move quickly. She felt as if the clock was ticking, the noose around Zane’s neck tightening as well.

  As she headed for her pickup, Dakota tried to imagine why Courtney would agree to be part of this. Ten thousand dollars? There had to be more to it. Courtney had grown up in a nice house with two parents who loved her and provided well for her. Also, Courtney hadn’t thought enough about the money to put it somewhere safer than under the bed—or take it with her.

  It had to be something more alluring than cash.

  Courtney’s birth mother. With a start, Dakota realized what a pull that could have had on her sister. Courtney was an only child who had never known her father or mother.

  Dakota knew what it was like not having a mother. What had it been like for Courtney not knowing either of her birth parents? Maybe she had yearned for that connection, someone who she resembled, more than her adopted mother had known.

  Family. Was that the hook that had gotten Courtney involved in what she might have thought at first was innocent?

  Clearly she hadn’t realized how dangerous it was. Now, if Courtney was still alive, she would definitely be a loose end.

  * * *

  DAKOTA CALLED MINER’S BAR on her way to Zortman. She figured that even if the bartender wasn’t working, he wouldn’t be that hard to find.

  Zortman was a small, old mining town, even smaller than Whitehorse. It squatted at the edge of the Little Rockies, surrounded by pine trees and rock cliffs.

  “He ain’t here,” said a male voice as if this was his standard, humorous response when answering the phone. Dakota could hear chuckling in the background. It was an old bar joke, the typical line when a woman called.

  She recognized the man’s voice at once. It was the same man who’d answered the number on Courtney’s cell phone earlier.

  He laughed a little too long at his own joke. “Sorry, Miner’s Bar. What can I do you for?” More chuckles.

  Apparently the crowd was eating it up or was drunk enough to laugh at anything. Dakota figured it was probably the latter since it was late afternoon.

  “Hello?” he said, his voice becoming muffled as if he’d turned away from the crowd at the bar. “Anyone there?” His tone changed. “Court?” he asked in a whisper.

  Dakota snapped the cell phone shut and looked down the long straight road toward the Little Rockies. She didn’t mind the drive south. This time of year the rolling prairie was lush and green, the sky a crystal clear, blinding blue. Only a few large white cumulus clouds hung on the horizon ahead.

  A hawk called to her from a fence post as she passed. She’d just seen a bald eagle near a group of antelope. The antelope had spooked. She’d watched them race to the nearest barbed wire fence, scurry under it and take off again, disappearing over a rise. The eagle still hadn’t moved, she saw in her rearview mirror.

  As she drove through the ponderosas into Zortman, she spotted Miner’s Bar among the other log buildings. It appeared old, the logs weathered. She parked, got out, breathed in the scent of pines and went over again how she was going to play this.

  She was Courtney’s sister. That much wasn’t a lie. Dakota was betting that if the bartender knew about the people her sister had gotten involved with, then the sister wouldn’t come as a surprise.

  Pushing open the door, Dakota was hit with the smell of stale beer. The bar was like so many in this part of Montana. Small and dark, a bunch of regulars on stools along the bar, a sad Western song playing on the jukebox.

  And like bars in out-of-the-way places in Montana, everyone turned as she came in. She felt their gazes as the door shut behind her. Only a few were still staring at her as she made her way to an empty stool at the far end of the bar.

  Once people didn’t recognize you, they usually went back to their drinking. Only a couple of the younger cowboys at the bar leered at her longer.

  “Go get her, Wyatt,” one of them said, loud enough for her to hear, as the bartender stopped what he was doing to head in her direction. The others at the bar laughed. Clearly they’d had a few drinks and were looking for some fun.

  Dakota studied the bartender as he made his way down the bar. Wyatt was tall, broad-shouldered and not bad looking. There was stubble on his jaw. His blond hair was rumpled and he had a look in his blue eyes that she recognized. She would bet he was exactly Courtney’s type.

  “What’ll you have?” he asked, giving her a grin. She’d also bet someone had told him his grin was irresistible to women. It wouldn’t be the first time the man had been lied to, or the last.

  She could feel the group down the bar watching now. They’d probably been watching him in action for as long as he’d worked here.

  “Whatever you have on tap,” she told him.

  Wyatt raised a brow. “Gotta love a woman who drinks beer,” he said, flirting with her as he poured her one from the tap nearby.

  “Does my sister drink beer?” Dakota asked quietly as he set down a bar napkin and her glass of beer.

  He leaned toward her as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “Your sister?”

  “Courtney,” she said, still keeping her voice down.

  He froze, then picked up a rag and killed some time wiping down the scarred surface of the bar. She could tell he was sizing her up, figuring out what to say, afraid he’d mess up.

  “I know she spent some time here. With you.” She met his gaze. She figured those nights Courtney had come in late she’d been down here. From Wyatt’s expression, she’d figured right.

  Wyatt put down the rag, wiped a hand over his mouth and asked, “She told you about me?”

  “I’m her sister.”

  He seemed to relax, even let out a small laugh. “The uptight daddy’s cowgirl.”

  The uptight daddy’s cowgirl? So that was how Courtney had described her. Maybe her theory about the sibling rivalry wasn’t that far off. Courtney had resented the fact that Dakota had had their father all those years and she hadn’t. She bristled at the “uptight” part, though.

  “And you’re her latest sucker,” Dakota said to Wyatt, and took a long drink of her beer.

  He frowned, angry now.
“Hey, watch it. I’m no sucker,” he said in a tight whisper.

  Dakota lifted a brow as she put down her beer. It was cold and tasted good. She wiped the foam from her upper lip. “So you’re saying she didn’t stick you with her bar bill?”

  He leaned against the bar. “Are you trying to tell me she won’t be back? Is that what this is about? She sent you with a message for me? Or didn’t she get the money?”

  “She got the money, but she seems to have disappeared. Actually, I’m looking for her myself.”

  He laughed. “She owes you money, too, huh?”

  “She’s part con artist, no doubt about that. But I’m afraid we’re both going to be out of luck if I don’t find her. I don’t like the people she’s…involved with.”

  “Yeah, me either.”

  Dakota took another drink of her beer. She had to go slow. If she rushed this, he might spook. But if she gave him too much time to think…

  “Of course, she could be lying to both of us.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Not if she already got the money. It must just be taking her longer than she thought it would.”

  So Courtney had been paid to do something. Dakota was dying to ask him if he knew what she had to do for the ten thousand dollars. “You think the money is why she’s doing this?” Dakota let out a disbelieving sound and took another drink.

  “Why else?”

  She shrugged. “I think her birth mother has her hooks in her.” She took a chance, winging it.

  He looked surprised. “She told you about her?”

  Dakota didn’t bother to answer. “Courtney was worried she couldn’t trust the woman. What do you think?”

  She could see that he liked being asked what he thought. He even gave it a few seconds of thought before he spoke.

  “I think family’s what it’s all about. Court got choked up even talking about her. It’s her blood, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I get that.” She held his gaze.

  “Sure, you’re her sister. So you’re going to do right by her.” The last came out almost sounding like a question. Courtney must have told him about the ranch and the business. She’d been eyeing it along with whatever else she was up to, just as Dakota had suspected.