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  “Still, I’d like to meet her mother, make sure she’s on the up-and-up.”

  “Yeah, me too, but Court wasn’t havin’ it. I said, ‘bring her down to the bar,’ but she said her mother doesn’t get out much.” He shrugged.

  “But if the mother’s staying in Whitehorse…”

  “Up north near the border, I think. Court never really said. I just got the feeling she wasn’t in town.”

  “She mention what her mother wanted her to do for this money?”

  He looked wary. “Nope.” He didn’t ask if Courtney had told her. Clearly, he knew Courtney had no intention of telling her. Did that mean he knew her old connection to Zane Chisholm?

  Dakota tried a different tactic, seeing that she was losing him. “I would have thought she’d have told you how she had to earn this money her mother was giving her.”

  He smiled, proving he wasn’t as stupid as he appeared. “I should get back down the bar.”

  “I know Courtney was worried. She took one of our father’s pistols.”

  Wyatt tried to hide his surprise but failed. He held up both hands. “I don’t know anything about it.” One of the regulars called to him for another drink. He took a step in that direction.

  Dakota put a twenty on the bar along with one of her father’s business cards with the house’s landline number on it. “My name’s Dakota Lansing. If you hear from Courtney…” He started to argue. “She’s already called me once saying she was in trouble and needed help. Unfortunately, the line went dead right after that.”

  He looked scared now. Another regular hollered at him, told him to quit flirting and bring them something to drink, but he didn’t move. “I had a bad feeling about this. But I swear, she didn’t tell me what she had to do for her mother. Just that she had to do it. She swore it was no big deal. Kind of a prank, really.”

  A prank? Dakota watched him hightail it down the bar. His hands were shaking as he reached for a couple of bottles of beer in the cooler. He’d suspected it was more than that. Who got paid ten thousand dollars by their mother to be part of a prank?

  Wyatt had to know at least a little of what Courtney had been up to, Dakota thought as she left the twenty and her father’s business card and walked out of the bar.

  “Guess you didn’t get far with that one,” one of the regulars said, and they all laughed as the door closed behind her.

  * * *

  THE STATE CRIME TECHS FOUND the body buried under about six inches of dirt, fifty yards away from where Courtney Baxter’s lime-green car was discovered.

  McCall got the call late in the afternoon and drove south to the ravine. Coroner George Murphy was already on the scene.

  “What have we got?” she asked after trudging through the cactus and sagebrush to the shallow grave. All the crime tech had told her on the phone was that they’d found a body in a shallow grave near where the car had gone off the road.

  “The body was dumped here and hastily covered with dirt.” George looked a little green around the gills. McCall knew the feeling. She never got used to violent death. It had gotten worse with pregnancy.

  “Time of death?”

  “I would estimate sometime in the past twenty-four hours. It appears the body was either thrown or rolled off that bluff,” George said, pointing to a spot up by the road.

  “It wasn’t carried?”

  He shook his head.

  “So the killer might not have been very strong,” McCall noted. “Could be why the body wasn’t buried more deeply.”

  “Could be,” he agreed. “I suppose you want to see the body.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply unzipped the black bag and stepped back.

  McCall let out a surprised, “Who’s that?” She’d expected to see Courtney Baxter.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” George said. “He didn’t have any identification on him. The crime techs took his fingerprints. He has what looks like prison tattoos, so they’re pretty sure they’ll get an ID on him as soon as they run his prints.”

  The man, short and slightly built, had been hit in the face with a flat, blunt object; his features were no longer recognizable. Blood was matted in his thinning, dark hair, his fingernails were dirty and broken, his clothing soiled from spending at least twenty-four hours under a pile of dirt.

  McCall leaned away from the body, motioning for George to zip the bag up again. Her stomach lurched and she had to turn away from the smell not to be sick.

  George handed her a mint. She mumbled her thanks and gazed up at the road, then over to the junipers where Courtney Baxter’s car had been found.

  “The crime team is broadening its search,” George said. “They seem to think there might be another grave out here.”

  “Courtney Baxter’s,” McCall said, glad her stomach was finally settling down. “Unless Courtney’s the killer.”

  “McCall, you are the most suspicious person I know,” George said as he came over to stand by her. In the distance, crime scene techs were using cadaver dogs to search for more bodies. “I hope I never get like you.”

  “You will. If you stay at this long enough,” she said.

  * * *

  ZANE DIALED DAKOTA’S CELL phone number the moment he made bail. One of the benefits of being a Chisholm was that his father was a powerful rancher and had pull when it came to the local judge. Thanks to his father, he wasn’t going to have to spend even one night in jail. At least not yet.

  Hoyt Chisholm and the ranch lawyer had convinced the judge that Zane wasn’t a flight risk. So far, all the sheriff had was incriminating evidence, but no body.

  Zane knew that if Courtney was found dead it could change everything. He didn’t even want to think about that. Whoever was behind this was bound to hear he’d made bail. He didn’t doubt they would step up their plan to frame him.

  As he listened to Dakota’s phone go to voice mail, he knew he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  He had to find out who was behind this before any more “evidence” appeared. His brother Marshall had dropped off his pickup when he’d come in with their father for the bail hearing. He started the engine as he listened to Dakota’s voice mail message. Where was she?

  He left a message saying he was out on bail and had to see her. He couldn’t help being worried about her and didn’t like the idea of her staying at the Lansing ranch by herself.

  After a moment, he tried the number again. This time when it went to voice mail, he left a message saying he was headed for her ranch and for her to sit tight. He had to see her.

  He knew his father and brothers, along with Emma, were anxious to see him. They wanted an explanation. He wished he had one to give them.

  But he was too worried about Dakota to do that right now. Worse, he feared she might have decided to do some investigating on her own. She’d mentioned going down to Zortman to talk to the bartender. He’d told her not to go. Unfortunately, he feared that might have been like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  He quickly placed a call home. “I have to make a stop before I come there,” Zane told his father when he answered.

  “Zane—”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. This is important. Would you ask Emma to make sure one of the guest rooms is ready? I’ll be bringing a friend with me.” He hung up before his father could question him further.

  The hard part would be convincing Dakota to come back to the Chisholm ranch with him. The woman was independent, which he liked. But the more he’d thought about everything while in jail, the more he feared she was in danger.

  Chapter Nine

  It was late by the time Dakota left Zortman. Clouds scudded across a black velvet sky, giving her only fleeting glimpses of a sliver of silver moon.

  Exhausted after a long, emotionally draining day, she drove back to the ranch. She was anxious to talk to Zane so she could tell him what she’d found out. She hadn’t been able to get any service while on her way to Miner’s Bar or on the way back unt
il she reached Chinook.

  She checked her messages. Both from Zane. He was out on bail and was headed for her ranch? She half expected to see his pickup when she pulled into the yard. He must be on his way, she thought as she climbed out and went inside.

  It had been a long day. She wondered if she had time for a hot bath before Zane arrived. She was anxious to talk to him, even more anxious to see him.

  Dakota sensed something was wrong the moment she walked into her father’s ranch house. She hit the light switch and nothing happened. For just an instant, she thought the bulb in the overhead light had simply burned out.

  Then she smelled him.

  The hair shot up on the back of her neck. Goose bumps skittered over her flesh as she started to turn, her mouth opening as she tried to find her voice.

  Her throat contracted and before she could squeeze out a sound, he was on her. His large hand clamped over her mouth, his arm wrapping around her, snatching her back against him in a viselike grip.

  She kicked, tried to free her arms to fight him, but he was so much larger, so much stronger, that she was pinned. He dragged her toward the back of the house, knocking over a chair, then a lamp. The lamp broke, sounding like a shot, as he carried her away in the darkness.

  Dakota heard a vehicle coming up the road. She tried to scream, but he had his hand over her mouth and his arm around her, pinning her own arms at her sides.

  He shoved her through the open side door of a dark-colored van. She tried to scramble away from him. He caught her leg, dragged her to him and then hit her with his fist.

  Stars glittered before her eyes just before the darkness closed in.

  * * *

  “DAKOTA?” ZANE KNOCKED, then tried her door. It swung open. He glanced back at her pickup parked outside. After he’d parked, he’d walked by her truck, felt heat still coming off the engine. She couldn’t have been home long.

  His fear was that she’d gone down to Miner’s Bar in Zortman and put herself in even more danger. “Dakota?”

  It was pitch-black inside the house. He tried the light switch. Nothing. Only a faint sliver of moon lit the sky outside, but was quickly extinguished by the cover of clouds. It did little to illuminate the interior of the house even though the curtains were all open. Out here in the middle of nowhere, curtains were seldom closed. No point.

  “Dakota?” he called louder as his pulse took off.

  The modest ranch house was single-level, the layout allowing him to move swiftly through it. “Dakota?” He heard the growing fear in his voice. Then, in a sudden shaft of moonlight he saw the upended chair and shattered lamp scattered across the floor, and felt the cool breeze coming through the open back door.

  He raced to the door, his heart in his throat. In the distance, he heard a vehicle engine turn over. Swearing, he rushed outside into the darkness. He cleared the edge of the yard in time to see a van roar down the road.

  Zane tore around the side of the house to his truck, leaped behind the wheel and cranked the engine over. He hadn’t gone far when he felt the pickup lean to the right and heard the whap whap of the back rear tire.

  Even before he stopped and got out he knew what he was going to find. Someone had cut his tire.

  He stared after the taillights of the van as they dimmed on the horizon, his heart pounding with fear. Someone had Dakota. One sister was already missing. Now Dakota.

  Call the sheriff.

  As he reached for his phone, it rang.

  “We have Dakota,” a deep male voice said.

  Zane had to tamp down his relief. He’d been expecting a call about Courtney and that one had never come. He’d feared the same might be true of Dakota.

  “Who’s we?” he asked, not expecting an answer but needing to fill the silence.

  “If you ever want to see her again, you will do exactly as I say. Call the sheriff and I kill her.”

  “I won’t. But don’t you hurt her.”

  A hoarse chuckle. “Then you do what I say.” He proceeded to give directions to an old mission cemetery outside of Whitehorse. “You know the place?”

  “Yes.” The mission building had been boarded up for years and the cemetery was surrounded by an iron fence. Both sat on a hill in the middle of nowhere. The perfect place for an ambush, especially on such a dark night.

  “Twenty minutes? Bring the money.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Come alone.”

  “Of course.”

  “And unarmed. You’d better get that tire fixed and get movin’. Time is running out for this cowgirl.”

  “I’m not movin’ until I know that Dakota is all right.”

  The man started to argue, then swore. Zane could hear the scrape of his boot soles on the ground, then the groan of the rusty van door as he opened it.

  A moment later, he heard what sounded like duct tape being ripped from her mouth. Dakota gave out a small cry.

  “Tell him you’re fine,” the man ordered.

  “Zane, don’t—”

  Another cry from Dakota, what sounded like a struggle, then the man’s deep voice again. “Happy? She’s fine as long as you do what I say.”

  Zane’s free hand balled up in a fist. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the bastard. He hung up and dug out the .38 pistol he kept under his pickup seat, making sure it was loaded.

  Then he stuffed the weapon into the pocket of his jean jacket and slipped his hunting knife in its scabbard into the top of his boot.

  Twelve minutes later, he’d changed his pickup tire and was headed in the direction of the old mission. He didn’t have the money. The sheriff had confiscated it. Apparently whoever had taken Dakota didn’t know that.

  So that would change how things went down, he thought, as ahead he saw the old mission etched against the dark sky.

  * * *

  MRS. CROWLEY HEARD the commotion shortly after the ranch phone rang. She glanced at her clock. Something was going on, since it was late in the evening. She’d been in bed, but not asleep, her drapes closed, making her room dark as the inside of a coffin.

  Easing out of bed, she made her way to the door. Her room was in an empty wing away from the rest of the house. That was a blessing—and a disadvantage. She had to leave her room and sneak down the hallway to the stairs to hear anything that was going on.

  Getting caught was not an option. But she was more than a little curious. She crept down the hallway to the top of the stairs, then settled herself into the deep shadows to listen.

  “That’s all he said?” Emma’s insistent voice was followed by Hoyt’s low rumble.

  “I just know he was arrested because some woman he went out with is missing. He promised to come out here and tell me what’s going on. But as you can see, he isn’t here.”

  “Why would he want a guest room ready unless he was bringing someone with him?” Emma had dropped her voice. They were both on the lower wing where the guest rooms were located.

  “I have no idea. Believe me, I’d like to know what the hell is going on as much as you do. I’m worried that something else has happened.”

  “Should we call the sheriff?” Emma asked.

  “No. We’ll wait and hope for the best.”

  Mrs. Crowley heard them go toward the kitchen. She knew Emma would make a pot of coffee, then probably bake something. The woman couldn’t quit baking.

  Sighing, she sneaked back to her room. Normally she never looked out her window, and kept the drapes shut tightly. But now she opened them a crack and peered out.

  A breeze stirred the tall, old cottonwoods next to the house. Through the leafy limbs, she caught glimpses of moon and starlight. A dark night. Her favorite. She opened the window a crack and breathed in the air even though it tasted bitter to her, the scent too familiar, too painful.

  She closed the window quietly and climbed back into bed. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. As she lay staring up at the ceiling, she smiled to herself. Apparently there was tro
uble in Chisholm ranch paradise. There would be no lovemaking tonight in that king-size bed on the second floor of the other wing, or out in the barn.

  Mrs. Crowley rubbed a hand over her smooth face. She would be glad when she no longer had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. And that time was coming. Soon.

  * * *

  ZANE SLOWED AT THE TURNOFF into the old mission. His headlights caught on a dark-colored van parked in the shadow of the church. It sat at an odd angle, the side door open. As the headlights hit it, Zane saw that the van was empty.

  As he drove in, his headlights slashed over the terra-cotta-colored stucco of the church structure, then picked up the bone-white of some of the gravestones higher up the hill.

  He parked next to the van, killed his lights and engine and sat for a moment, listening with his side window down.

  Clouds played peekaboo with the crescent moon and sky full of stars, keeping the night dark with floating shadows across the landscape. An owl hooted from its perch on the ridge of the church roof. Back on the highway, a semi roared past. Silence followed.

  Zane eased his door open and, grabbing an old duffel bag from behind the seat of his pickup, stepped out. The bag had a couple pairs of his old leather branding gloves in it. Ten thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills didn’t take up a lot of space. He figured it would be enough weight to fool the kidnapper since Zane had no intention of ever letting the man look inside the bag.

  The kidnapper couldn’t be inside the church, since it had been boarded up for years. That didn’t leave many hiding places.

  Moving slowly, Zane climbed the slope toward the graveyard. At the edge of the building he stopped to make sure the kidnapper wasn’t hiding in the shadow of the church.

  The moon came out from behind a cloud, painting the side of the church in silver. No sign of anyone next to the church, but they could have moved around to the highway side.

  He had his doubts about that. A man holding a woman at gunpoint could be seen in the glare of lights from the highway. Zane doubted the man would take that chance.

  Turning his gaze back to the graveyard, he continued up the hillside. There could be only one other place the kidnapper was hiding with Dakota.