Beth Cornelison – Rancher's Covert Christmas (страница 2)
He needed to be free of his blackmailer once and for all.
A cut brake line should do the job.
One last time, he’d do the man’s bidding, but then, no more.
He made his way into the garage where the Double M owners parked the large pickup truck used to tow their cattle trailer. No overhead light. The light might draw attention, he decided, and dropped the hand that hovered near the switch. He fumbled in the dark until he found the snake-necked flashlight on a shelf on a sidewall. Shuffling slowly, his path lit only by the thin moonlight that filtered through the high window, he made his way past the family’s personal vehicles. He stopped at the Ford F-350 that would haul the trailer with the largest part of this year’s herd to market. Or not.
His goal was to strand the family long enough that they missed the best sales days. If they didn’t make it to market, didn’t get top dollar for the cattle, the financial setback would devastate the struggling ranch. And he could finally be finished with the plot to ruin the Double M.
Raising the hood, he stepped up on a stool to lean over the engine. He used the flashlight to locate the main brake line, then centered an empty coffee can beneath the reservoir.
Unfolding his pocketknife, he sliced a thin line in the tube that fed fluid to the brakes. A slow leak of yellow-tinged liquid seeped from the cut. He bent the tube slightly, accelerating the flow into the can. The rapid drip, drip, drip of liquid into the aluminum can synced with the anxious drumming of his heart. He needed to hurry. His absence would be noticed soon, and someone might come looking for him.
He considered allowing a small telltale puddle of the brake fluid to collect on the garage floor. He wanted the damage to be discovered before the trip over the mountains, just not soon enough to repair the damage before the scheduled departure. His goal was to prevent the trip to the cattle market, not to cause an accident.
He heard a noise, a scuff of feet, and he jerked his head up. The overhead light came on, and he blinked in the bright fluorescent glow.
“Oh, hi,” the woman at the door said.
He swallowed hard as she approached and, squeezing the pocketknife handle, his gaze locked on hers.
“I didn’t realize anyone was in h—” She stopped abruptly when her gaze fell to his handiwork.
The dripping of fluid continued, like gunshots in the still garage. The knife in his hand screamed his guilt.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was sharp, accusing. Her eyes narrowed on him, as understanding and outrage hardened her face. “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been sabotaging the ranch!”
Bile rose in his throat, knowing he’d been found out, knowing what awaited him when she told what she’d seen tonight. His heartbeat stuttered. Unless...
“It’s not what it looks like.” He rose and moved toward her.
She took a stumbling step back, shaking her head. “I know what I’m looking at. It explains so much. I won’t let you get away with this!”
Panic swelled in him. A survival instinct. He lunged toward her, grabbing her arm. “No! You can’t say anything!”
“Ow! Let go. You’re hurting me!”
He squeezed tighter, shaking her. “You can’t say anything!”
“Let go, or I’ll scream!”
If he let go, she’d run straight to the main house, tell the family what she’d seen. If she screamed, someone would hear her and come investigate. Neither could happen. He had to make sure she didn’t talk. He narrowed his eyes and snarled, “You can’t say—”
She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth.
Before she could loose the shriek, he snaked his arm around her, still clenching the small knife. He clapped his hand firmly over her mouth and nose. A muffled grunt of surprise rumbled in her throat, and she struggled to free herself from his grip. Between tightening his grip and her thrashing, the pocketknife managed to cut her, slicing through her sleeve and gashing her arm. He shifted his grip, only to accidentally jab her belly when she flinched.
Her accelerated pulse meant that she bled faster and droplets began to make the floor slick as they struggled. Finally he dropped the knife with a clatter. With his hand now free, he wrapped his arm across her sternum and dragged her up against his chest. “Be still!”
His fingers dug into her cheek and chin as he smothered her distressed cry.
Her fingers scrabbled feebly at the hand he had over her mouth. But having pinned her arms at her sides with his other arm, she barely reached his palm. Her efforts did little other than anger him. Why did she have to fight? Why couldn’t she have just promised her silence and left him alone?
Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat popped out on his brow. His heart thumped hard enough that he would have sworn the whole ranch would hear it.
“Stop it!” He shook her and stumbled when she raised a foot to kick backward at him. His grip tightened as his frustration and fury grew. “I said stop!”
A whimpering mewl escaped from beneath his muffling hand. Her tears dripped from her cheeks to his fingers. Blood continued to leak from her wounds, saturating her clothes and dripping on the floor. Guilt sawed his gut, adding a bitter bite to his agitation. He could feel himself losing the tenuous hold he had on his temper.
When she tried again to break free, twisting her hips, bucking, he gave her another hard shake. “Stop it!” He gritted his teeth, growling, “Stop, stop, stop!”
She wrenched to the left, and he jerked hard back to the right. And heard a crack. Felt the give in her neck. Her body went limp and heavy in his arms.
He stilled. Stunned. An icy terror crawled through him. Slowly he peeled his fingers away from her mouth.
Her head lolled to the side, and when he relaxed the arm across her chest, her legs buckled. She slid to the ground. Inert. Silent.
His breath rasped in shallow gasps as he dropped to his knees to feel for a pulse.
Her sightless eyes stared up at him, and acid pooled at the back of his throat. A numb stupor settled over him.
She was...dead.
He’d...murdered her.
Dazed, he slogged through the horrible truths, his sins, which flashed like slides on a screen. A review of all his transgressions. Lies. Arson. Betrayal.
And murder.
He’d killed an innocent woman.
Again.
Two weeks earlier
Deception did not sit well with Erin. Her life’s work, her history, her passion was truth. But her client had been adamant. No one was to know her true purpose for going to the Double M Ranch in Boyd Valley, Colorado. Or rather, she would be going, assuming she could sell her cover story to—she checked the notebook where she’d scribbled the names and phone numbers of her contacts—Zane McCall. Of the four co-owners of McCall Adventure Ranch, Zane was the chief business manager and, according to her client, the primary hurdle she had to pass.
Erin Palmer took a deep breath, mentally reviewing her practiced script, and tapped in the phone number she’d been given. The line rang several times, and she was about to hang up, expecting the call to go to voice mail any moment, when a low male voice answered. “H’lo?”
“Hi,” Erin said, infusing her tone with cheer, “My name is Erin Palmer. I’m looking for Zane McCall.”
“You found him. What can I do for you, Erin?”
An unexpected thrill raced through her hearing her name caressed by his sultry baritone voice.
“Well, Zane—” If he could use her first name, she could use his, too. And no, she wasn’t flirting. After all, she didn’t know anything about the guy other than the melted-dark-chocolate sound of his voice. And flirting would be unprofessional. And—
“Yes?”
Erin wet her lips and refocused her straying thoughts. “I’m a journalist for
“Yeah. I...” She heard the creak of desk chair and his sigh. “Can I ask why?” His sexy baritone voice was now rife with suspicion.
“Why what?”
“Why McCall Adventures?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched her lips together. Answering his question would require laying out an even more elaborate lie. Her gut twisted as she dug for a believable excuse. She couldn’t say, “Because that’s the cover I’m going with to get me on-site at your ranch.”
She decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I heard about the trouble you had with your soft opening, the failure of the zip line and—”
“Wanted to exploit our accident and drag our business through the mud?” The once enchanting voice now had an edge of steel.
Erin swallowed hard. “No! Not at all. Quite the opposite. I respect the way you’ve turned the business around and recovered from the setback. In fact, I’d like to highlight the precautions you’ve taken and the remarkable strides you’ve made toward your relaunch.” She held the phone away from her mouth and pulled a face, shocked at her fawning.