Gayle Wilson – Rocky Mountain Maverick (страница 6)

“I thought he was ahead in the polls,” Shawn said.

“Not according to the opposition’s private polls. Who knows where the race really stands? However, according to our sources, Langworthy—that’s Samuel, not Josh—also hasn’t been completely forthcoming with the authorities. The agents who questioned him felt he might know more about his grandson’s disappearance than he told them. Given who he is, they couldn’t act on their feelings, of course.”

“Meaning no bright lights and rubber hoses for the head of the Colorado’s Centennial Family,” Fiona suggested lightly.

“Meaning Langworthy is still a very powerful and respected name in this state. Whatever investigation of the family we undertake must also be discreet. Very discreet.”

Michael’s gaze had been drawn to Night Walker, maybe because he was the only one who hadn’t offered an opinion or a suggestion. However, there seemed to be some spark of animation in those dark eyes now that hadn’t been there when the former bounty hunter had been introduced.

“That’s why I thought Night might be the ideal candidate to conduct that part of the operation.”

There was no reaction to Colleen’s words in Walker’s impassive features.

“You once worked at the house,” Colleen continued, as if his lack of response had been expected. “I think the baby’s mother, Holly Langworthy, bears watching. If the Langworthys are involved, it’s possible she may lead us to the baby. After all, her stake in this is higher than anyone else’s. Except for the baby’s father, of course. And no one seems to know who he is.”

There was some nuance of inflection in the last that Michael couldn’t decode. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect. Night Walker nodded his agreement, a single up and down motion of his head.

“Good,” Colleen said, glancing down at the sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. “Fiona, that leaves Houghton and Gettys for you. Gettys’s ex-wife might be a way to hone in on whatever shady dealings the senator’s involved in.”

“You think there are some?” Fiona asked. “Shady dealings, I mean.”

“They’ve been rumored for years.”

“Nobody at that level of politics is ever completely clean,” Shawn Jameson said. “So where does that leave me? There doesn’t seem to be another side in this nasty little war.”

“Well, I do need someone to check out a sheep farm that Gettys owns part of, but actually, I was hoping—”

“A sheep farm?” Fiona broke in. “You just lost me, Colleen. How does a sheep farm play into this?”

“Maybe you should have let me finish the intro,” Colleen said, smiling to indicate her comment wasn’t intended as a rebuke. “One of the strangest aspects of the kidnapping was the trace evidence recovered from the baby’s room.”

“Don’t tell me,” Shawn said, controlling an upward quirk at the corners of his mouth.

Colleen ignored him, again referring to her notes. “Fibers identified as Merino wool were found on the bedding, along with particles of eggshell and dirt.” She looked up, eyes again scanning the faces of the people at the table. “The dirt, by the way, came from the southern part of the state.”

“Egg shells and wool?” Fiona’s question probably expressed what they were all feeling.

Colleen lifted her hands, palms upward. “All I can tell you is what the technicians found. And that Senator Gettys does own part of a sheep ranch somewhere in the mountains around Granby. It’s a stretch, but enough of a coincidence that it seems worth checking out. Maybe just by having someone work there for a few weeks to see if there’s anything remotely suspicious going on. The problem is…I have a couple of other leads DPS is working up. I had hoped to keep you here,” she said to Shawn, “until something comes through on those.”

No one said anything, although it must be obvious to them, as it was to him, what Colleen was hinting for. And she could hint until the cows came home, Michael decided. He wasn’t getting back into covert operations. Especially not on some damn sheep farm. The assignment was obviously make-work, designed to give him something useful to do—something not too challenging, of course—and they both knew it.

The strained silence built until Jameson broke it, his eyes considering Michael. “If you want someone to hire on as a hand, maybe I should do it.”

Michael knew exactly what had prompted that offer. The son of a bitch thought he wasn’t up to working on a ranch. After all, Colleen’s three hotshots had already been seated at the table when he’d limped into the room.

“You know a cowboy worth his keep who hasn’t had a couple of broken bones?” he asked.

It was the first time he’d spoken, and no one seemed particularly eager to answer his question. Fiona’s eyes fell to examine her hands, which were clasped together on top of the table.

Michael Wellesley couldn’t remember the last time anyone had doubted his competence. With more than a dozen years of combined special ops and intel experience, some of it in places these three probably couldn’t find on a map even if they’d heard of them, he wasn’t about to let someone start now.

He might be beat up and battered, both mentally and physically, but the day he couldn’t ride a horse or mend fence or herd some frigging sheep well enough to earn his keep, he’d quit. Not until. And that decision, when it came, sure as hell wasn’t going to be made by someone else.

“If you’re worried about Michael being able—”

“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice overriding his sister’s attempted defense of his abilities.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know he’d been played. Or didn’t understand that this was exactly what she’d been hoping for. And he did see the irony in his leaping into something he’d sworn he would never be involved in again.

Hell, he needed a success. Something to go right so that the long years of service to his country wouldn’t end with that fiasco in San Parrano.

Besides, how hard could checking out a sheep farm be? It would do him good to work a few weeks in the open. He could use the time to get back into shape. To work on getting his head screwed back on straight. After all, it wasn’t as if something really dangerous was likely to come up during Colleen’s “therapy” assignment. Not likely at all.

Chapter Three

“This way each of the hands gets his own place,” Charlie Quarrels said, as he unlocked the door of the small trailer to which he’d driven Michael. “Privacy. Folks these days seem to prefer that rather than all bedding down in a bunkhouse.”

Despite the fact that he had the skills required for this job, Michael had been surprised at how quickly he’d been hired. The questions Quarrels had asked during his interview had been cursory. Michael’s answers had been accepted at face value.

Now officially an employee, he was being given the grand tour of the Half Spur. Not that there was anything remotely grand about what he’d seen so far.

Employees lived in trailers that were scattered around the outer perimeter of the central compound. Judging by the interior of this one, he decided after he followed the foreman up the high step and then inside, none of them were living in luxury. Heated by propane and lighted by an outside generator, the small metal caravans would be freezing in winter and like ovens in a summer like this.

He’d been given the trailer farthest from the complex where the offices and shearing pens were located because, Quarrels had explained, Michael had his own transportation. Not the SUV, of course. He’d left that at the Royal Flush and purchased the most disreputable looking pickup he could find to make the journey north.

“Meals are down at the main cabin,” the foreman went on. “Six, noon and six.”

He assumed the main cabin referred to the building where his interview had been conducted. Michael had gotten the impression that some of the workers, including the foreman, lived on the premises. Everybody else got one of the trailers.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of ’em during supper. We’re shorthanded right now, so there ain’t all that many names to remember.”

“Thanks,” Michael said, swinging his duffel bag onto the narrow bed.

Little more than a cot, it didn’t look as if it would be long enough to accommodate his height. Ever since he’d entered the trailer, he’d felt as if he needed to duck his head to avoid bumping the low ceiling. When this was over, Colleen was going to owe him big time.

“You can ride back down with me,” Quarrels offered. “Ain’t no need to start ’til morning. We’ll be taking blood samples then.”

“Blood samples?”

“This ain’t just a sheep ranch. It’s a government research facility.”

Each syllable in the last two words had been enunciated separately, as if Quarrels had had to practice until he got the phrase right. Michael didn’t ask what they were researching. He doubted the normal hired hand would give a damn, so that was the attitude he needed to adopt.

He’d had a lot of experience adapting to whatever role he was playing. Someone who couldn’t bury himself completely in a situation wasn’t going to survive undercover work.

To him, that had always been one of its biggest draws—the tension created by the dichotomy of disappearing into a persona while maintaining the necessary vigilance about who you really were and why you were there. It created a constant adrenaline rush. Or as near to one as he had believed he could get.