Carol Finch (15 page)

“I’m surprised Shiloh didn’t insist on coming with you,” Fletch said as they trotted off.

“She did. I sneaked off without her,” Hawk confided then winced. “I’m going to have hell to pay when I get back.”

Fletch watched his brother appraise the sprawling ranch with its lush pastures, numerous spring-fed creeks and ample shade trees. Sleek cattle dotted the countryside and horse herds grazed on the slopes of the hills.

“Oliver Draper acquired all this property when he married a Chickasaw?” Hawk questioned.

“He married twice,” Savanna reported, her tone infused with resentment. “How convenient for him that his second wife owned adjoining property and that it is one of the most productive areas in the Chickasaw Nation. Equal to Morningstar’s property with its panoramic Whispering Falls and lush mountain meadows.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her speculative gaze swung to Fletch.

“So that’s what he might be after,” Fletch said.

“Who wants what?” Hawk demanded. “Quit sitting there on horseback, reading each other’s minds. Talk out loud, damn it.”

“This has to be about land acquisition,” Savanna predicted as she led the way through a clump of cedar trees that formed a wind block for the large stone-and-timber ranch house. “Maybe that’s why Oliver insisted Willow was Roark’s fiancée. Maybe Oliver wanted Roark to court Willow so he could marry her then claim the property she’ll one day inherit. The same way Oliver took possession of his wives’ valuable property.”

“So Willow was slated for death, same as Oliver’s two wives?” Hawk watched Fletch and Savanna nod affirmatively.

“According to Mick, the tribal police chief,” she said for
Hawk’s benefit, “Willow had been starved and abused.” Savanna’s breath hitched. It was a moment before she could continue. “Maybe Roark objected to the match and clashed with his father in a drunken rage.”

“Why would Roark object?” Fletch mused out loud. “Oliver had set a precedence of disposing of his wives when they no longer served his purpose. Why not Roark, too?”

“Perhaps Roark had another would-be bride in mind,” Hawk murmured, staring pointedly at Savanna.

The thought of Savanna being a victim of Roark’s brutality made Fletch cringe. “That’s a definite possibility, but I think we’re missing some key elements in this case.”

“So we’ll cut to the chase and go ask this Draper character what really happened to his former wives and his troublesome son,” Hawk suggested.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Savanna enthused. “I’ve waited a long time to confront Oliver face-to-face.”

“I have a better idea,” Fletch insisted. “Why don’t you stand as posted lookout while Hawk and I pose a few questions? We’ve been in the interrogation business for years.”

“No.” Savanna tilted her chin to a determined angle. “The man has done his damnedest to make my life hell and is trying to hang me. I want first crack at him.”

“Savanna,” Fletch said warningly.

“I want my life back, my horse back, my reputation restored,” she declared adamantly. “I’d like to wring Oliver’s neck for creating this living nightmare. Standing in the wings is unacceptable. Have I made myself clear?”

Fletch muttered at Savanna’s unyielding expression then fixed his attention on Hawk’s amused grin. “There was a time five years back that you didn’t think it was so damn funny when dealing with a hardheaded woman.”

“Shiloh would adore this woman,” Hawk murmured confidentially. “Kindred spirits, I think.”

Fletch remembered thinking the same thing.

“All right, fine, you can go with us when we confront Draper,” he said begrudgingly. “But try to remember that I am the law official in charge of this investigation.”

“Good going,” Hawk teased unmercifully after Savanna trotted off. “Way to put your foot down, Fletch. You really showed her who’s in command.”

“Was I this obnoxious when Shiloh was giving you fits while you tried to keep her out of harm’s way?”

“Yes,” Hawk insisted. “What goes around comes around.”

Fletch sighed heavily. Hawk was receiving too much enjoyment from watching the clash of wills between Fletch and Savanna. Plus, she was making him look bad again. He wondered if it was possible to exert the slightest control over this woman.

A quiet voice in his head whispered,
Probably not.

“This way,” Savanna directed. She dismounted in the cover of trees and strode purposefully forward. “Oliver has a fully stocked wine cellar on his property. There’s an outside entrance at the bottom of the hill. The tunnel leads up to the house. I don’t know what else Oliver brings into this secret passage, but it makes a discreet entrance and escape route.”

Fletch noticed the heavy wooden door that was partially concealed by underbrush. The planked portal creaked on its leather hinges when he pulled it open. Stale air and darkness greeted them.

“Dare I ask how you know about this?” Fletch inquired.

Savanna smiled impishly. “Are you asking as my friend or as a Deputy U.S. Marshal?”

Friend? Is that what he meant to her? True, he’d tried to keep their relationship simple, but it had become complicated, despite his best efforts to remain uninvolved. They were far more than friends and she damn well knew it.

Leave it alone, Fletch,
he told himself.
You have more pressing matters to attend to.

Oliver Draper might be responsible for at least four deaths. If he killed his two Chickasaw wives, he might’ve killed his own son, too. Greed obviously motivated Draper. He used whatever means necessary—no matter how ruthless—to feed his obsession.

“There’s a wooden rail on the left side of the tunnel.” Savanna’s voice whispered around the stone walls. “When we reach the wine cellar, the rail is on the right. Stay close to the wall or you’ll trip over kegs and racks of wine bottles.”

“Do you suppose this is a bootlegger’s old still or an outlaw hideout?” Fletch wondered.

“Quite possibly both,” Savanna replied. “I know the hollowed-out chamber has been here for years because Willow, Mick and I explored it as children. I suspect Oliver built his house nearby so he could make use of it.”

Fletch felt a rush of cool air barrel through the tunnel. His instincts went on high alert and he grabbed Savanna’s hand to halt her progress. He pricked his ears when he heard the muffled footfalls in the corridor beyond the cellar.

Damn it, someone was coming. He slid his Peacemaker from its holster and heard Hawk do the same. Since Savanna wasn’t armed, Fletch laid the dagger that he kept strapped to his thigh in the palm of her hand—just in case.

Whoever was ambling down the tunnel was carrying a lantern and humming a soft tune. It sounded like a woman. A housekeeper or cook perhaps? Fletch waited until the un
suspecting Indian woman rounded the corner. However, before Fletch could ease past Savanna, she pounced. The wide-eyed woman gasped when Savanna pressed the dagger to her throat.

“I won’t hurt you if you promise to keep quiet.” Savanna took the lantern from the heavyset woman’s trembling hand. “Natalie, isn’t it? I taught your daughter at the academy last year. She’s a bright little girl. You should be proud of her.”

“I am.” Natalie smiled and relaxed her ramrod-stiff stance. “Oliver is in the study on the second level,” she confided without being prompted. “He’s been drinking hard since he returned from town.” She clutched Savanna’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I was glad to hear you escaped, Savvy.”

“Thank you.” Savanna gestured toward the men. “This is Logan and Fletcher Hawk,” she introduced. “They’re lawmen.”

After they exchanged polite nods, Savanna urged Natalie to take a seat on the wooden crate. “I’m sorry to tie you up down here, but we need to give the appearance that we overpowered you. You can truthfully claim you didn’t conspire with us.”

“I understand.” There was a twinkle in her coal-black eyes and a wry smile on her lips. “Better gag me, too, so I can’t shout at that burly Desmond Sharp, who acts as Oliver’s personal bodyguard. He’ll be standing in the front hall, so you might want to do something about him before you look up Oliver.”

Fletch grinned. “Thanks for your help, Natalie.”

“You just take care of her.” Natalie inclined her head toward Savanna, who was in the process of tying her up. “Don’t want the same thing that happened to Oliver’s wives
to happen to Savvy.” She gave a disdainful snort. “Both women
accidentally
fell in the creek and drowned? Ha!”

Hawk and Fletch glanced at each other. “We may have a few questions for you when this is over, ma’am.”

“Then go ahead and ask them,” Natalie offered. “I have no loyalty to Oliver. Nor did I have any to his worthless son. I’m only here because Oliver pays so well. Lately I’ve been thinking I’d rather do without a few conveniences than to serve the pompous man. But now that I know how he operates, I’m afraid to resign for fear he’ll use my daughter as leverage to keep me on staff or to make sure I don’t pass along any information about how he handles his business.”

Fletch figured Natalie was probably right. Oliver appeared to be ruthless about gaining cooperation from his hired help.

Leaving the lantern with Natalie, the threesome inched down the corridor that opened into the kitchen pantry.

S
avanna carefully eased open the pantry door that Natalie had left slightly ajar. She stepped into the kitchen then motioned for Fletch and Hawk to come out of hiding. With their pistols drawn, they tiptoed across the room to peer around the corner into the expensively furnished oak-paneled dining room.

Savanna swerved around the men when she heard the rhythmic click of boot heels on the tiled floor of the foyer. Before they could stop her, she surged forward to confront Desmond Sharp. The barrel-chested bodyguard’s wooly brows shot up like exclamation marks when she appeared from out of nowhere.

“Is Oliver home?” Savanna asked. “I want to talk to him.”

She could see Fletch looming in the doorway behind Desmond, glaring pitchforks at her for taking matters into her own hands and providing a distraction. She ignored him and kept her attention focused on the bodyguard, who was long on muscle but a mite slow to react. When he tried to draw his pistol, she kicked it from his fist before he could raise it into firing position.

A dull groan tumbled from Desmond’s lips and his eyes rolled back in his head when Fletch hammered him on the back of the skull with the butt of his pearl-handled pistol. Desmond’s knees buckled and he toppled over like a felled tree. He lay unconscious at her feet.

“That was hardly necessary,” Fletch muttered at her. “Hawk and I could have disarmed the big lummox without your help. You seem to forget that this is what Hawk and I do for a living.”

“I have a lot of rage and resentment built up and I’m taking it out on anyone who helped Oliver make my life miserable,” she countered.

“You should be thanking your lucky stars she isn’t taking her frustration out on you,” Hawk told his brother as he squatted to secure Desmond’s hands behind his back. To Savanna he said, “Hand me the tasseled ties from the drapes. We’ll tether muscle-bound Desmond so he won’t interrupt us while we’re chatting with your friend Oliver.”

Savanna retrieved the ties then cast Hawk a reproachful glance. “Do not refer to Oliver as my friend unless you want me to pound
you
on the head with the butt of a pistol.”

“Easy, darlin’,” Hawk snickered. “I’m on your side.”

Savanna inhaled a calming breath. Her emotions were jumping alive because she was only one flight of steps away from confronting the man who’d made her life a living hell. She was so consumed by the thought that Fletch startled her when he folded his hand reassuringly around hers. His warm breath whispered against the side of her neck as he leaned close. Goose bumps pebbled her skin and she was instantly reminded of the intimacy they’d shared.

“Another few minutes, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’ll have your answers. Hawk and I will make sure of it.”

Savanna reacted impulsively. She pushed up on tiptoe and kissed Fletch right smack-dab on the mouth. Fletch might not appreciate her display of affection since his brother was on hand, but she was starving for the taste of him. It seemed like endless days since she’d been this close to him.

The fact that she would soon have the information to clear her name also signified the end of her association with Fletch. He’d be gone to fulfill his long-held promise to Elaina. Savanna would have to grow accustomed to life without Fletch. Life without Willow. And maybe without Mick, too.

“Thank you for being here to help with Oliver,” she whispered. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare speak from her heart. She didn’t want to make Fletch more uncomfortable than he probably was already.

“Ahem,” Hawk said, pretending to clear his throat. “Could you two finish up here? I’m anxious to locate this Oliver character before he trots off to find his missing housekeeper.”

Savanna dropped down on her heels, bowed her neck and led the way upstairs. Oliver’s day of reckoning had come. She wasn’t leaving until she knew the
whys
and
what-fors
of this elaborate setup that had had her running for her life for more than a month.

Her thoughts scattered abruptly when she realized she hadn’t heard the Hawk brothers following behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised they were a step below her. She smiled to herself. Both men excelled at stalking with the silence of a cat. And for once,
she
was the one with heavily armed and highly skilled reinforcements, not Oliver Draper.

“Natalie! Where the hell are you?” Oliver bellowed from his study. “How long does it take to bring up a damn bottle of whiskey from the cellar?”

“Sorry, Oliver, Natalie is bound and gagged. Your whiskey won’t arrive at all,” Savanna replied, stepping into view.

Shocked, Oliver reared back in his desk chair and nearly threw himself on the floor. “How in the hell—?” he bleated.

“I had help.” Savanna headed straight toward her nemesis.

Oliver’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets when he stared past Savanna. His jaw dropped to his chest. He’d been in the act of going for his pistol, but his hand stalled in midair when the Hawk brothers cocked the triggers on the pistols they had aimed at his chest.

“Well, I’ll be damned, big brother. If it isn’t dear ole daddy. I always wondered what became of this son of a bitch.”

Savanna’s goggle-eyed gaze swung back and forth between the Hawk brothers and Oliver. Now she realized what there was about Oliver that kept niggling her. Although his dark hair and brows had turned gray, his eyes were nearly the same shade of blue as Fletch’s. The Hawk brothers hadn’t inherited their father’s lean, lanky physique and they had exceeded his height by a good two inches. But, seeing the threesome together, she easily noted the family resemblance. Before, she’d been unable to make the connection. However, in her defense, she’d been distracted by trying to outrun lynch mobs.

“Logan? Fletch?” Oliver croaked, frog-eyed.

Fletch cocked a dark brow, his expression insolent. “So it’s Oliver Draper these days, is it? How many other aliases have you used since you hightailed it from camp before the army descended on Sundance Canyon to kill as many of our clan as they could? How much did the army pay you to betray us? Do you even care that our mother and grandfather died from their wounds when we were marched off to New Mexico?”

“Dear God,” Savanna mumbled as she stepped back so she wouldn’t end up in the crossfire—in case Oliver decided to square off against his sons, who didn’t look the slightest bit pleased to find themselves at the unexpected family reunion.

Her attention darted to Hawk and Fletch. “Roark was your half-brother. He was two years older than I am. How—?”

“Yes, dear daddy,” Hawk cut in, flashing Oliver a disrespectful glare, “please do explain how Fletch and I came to have a half brother who was seven or eight years younger.”

“You were obviously married to both Roark’s mother and our mother during those years when you came and went from our Apache village,” Fletch snapped. “Knowing you, the white woman served your purpose one way or another, just as our mother did. She was your liaison in the Apache camp. What about Roark’s mother? Was she your meal ticket in white society?”

“And your two Chickasaw wives?” Savanna added, watching the color drain from Oliver’s tanned face. “That brings the wife count to four. Are there others whose names you’d like to share?”

Oliver recovered his composure and realized the imminent threat. He went for his pistol, but he was no match for his Apache sons. They simultaneously shot the weapon from his fist. He yelped like a wounded pup and clamped his bloodied hand to his belly. When he wilted back into his chair, no one rushed forward to check his injury.

“You two fools have aligned yourselves with a murderess,” he snapped. “That’s a mistake you’ll regret.”

Fletch snorted disdainfully. “You can drop the theatrics now, Pappy. No one here is gullible enough to believe Sa
vanna is guilty of murder. We know what a backstabbing bastard you are. Don’t expect us to accept a bribe to side with you, either.”

“You’ll be dreadfully sorry for this.” Oliver sneered.

“We’re already sorry that you’re the one who sired us,” Hawk replied. “For years we actually thought you might’ve cared about us and that you would try to locate us after we were marched to the reservation at Bosque Redondo.” His gaze narrowed with blatant disgust. “But you were living a double life, weren’t you? You took the furs you hunted and trapped. With
our
help, as I recall. You lived off the generosity of our clan and then you trotted back to white society. You married Roark’s mother and slunk off to lie with our mother when you returned to our village.”

Oliver clamped his mouth shut and glowered at his sons.

Not to be outdone, the Hawk brothers glared at their long-lost father.

Savanna’s heart went out to Fletch and Hawk. They were grown men, but their devious father had cast them aside. It still must hurt, knowing Oliver had purposely discarded them and left them to fend for themselves.

Roark, the golden child, had been showered with wealth and privilege. Of course, he’d been so self-absorbed and spoiled that he’d become a nuisance to society. Ironically, Fletch and Hawk had fared much better without Oliver’s influence.

“Savanna, why don’t you go down to the cellar and untie the housekeeper,” Fletch requested without taking his attention off Oliver. “We need a few more minutes with Daddy dear, for old times’ sake. I’m sure he’s dying to know how we fared after he sacrificed his Apache family
when he reentered white society and pretended his half-breed sons didn’t exist.”

Savanna was anxious to fire questions at Oliver—or rather, John Fletcher Logan, the conniving, opportunistic bastard. However, she decided his two neglected sons deserved first crack at him. If the stony expressions on the Hawk brothers’ faces were any indication, they weren’t going to be swayed by whatever twisted and distorted lies Oliver spun for their benefit.

“I’m sorry.” Savanna paused beside Hawk and Fletch. “I wouldn’t have put you through this ordeal if I had realized there was a history among the three of you.”

Fletch never glanced at her, just stood there with his pistol pointed at Oliver’s heaving chest. “When you get back upstairs, we should have our long-lost pappy all trussed up and ready for some good old-fashion Apache torture. He should be more than willing to tell you everything you want to know about his involvement in your case.”

Savanna exited the room, wondering how she’d react if her father betrayed her, as Oliver had done his sons. But that was more her mother’s style. Glorianna had walked away, as John Fletcher Logan had done. She’d abandoned her child, letting her think that she possessed some tragic flaw that made her unlovable and repulsive. Savanna suspected Fletch and Hawk had suffered those same feelings of insecurity before they matured enough to realize that the flaw was in their parent, not them.

She frowned pensively, curious how much pain John Logan Fletcher, alias Oliver Draper, could endure before he admitted he’d set Savanna up to take the blame for two deaths. And what of his two Chickasaw wives? Would he admit that he disposed of them?

“We’ll see who hangs for murder, Oliver,” she said to the despicable vision floating in her mind.

Savanna hurried downstairs to check on Desmond Sharp. He was still bound and gagged, but he had regained consciousness and was glowering at her. Savanna double-checked the makeshift handcuffs and ankle bracelets, finding that they would hold indefinitely. Desmond wasn’t going anywhere until Fletch and Hawk decided to turn him loose.

Anxious to release Natalie and to fire her own questions at Oliver, Savanna quickened her pace. She ducked into the pantry then felt her way along the dark tunnel that led to the cellar. She planned to send Natalie home for the day and inform her that the Hawk brothers would come around to question her after they dealt with Oliver.

When Savanna veered into the cellar, she noticed Natalie’s dark eyes were wide with alarm. The housekeeper was trying desperately to communicate, although she was still gagged.

Savanna rushed to Natalie. “What’s wrong?”

Although Natalie shook her head adamantly, Savanna reached over to pull down the gag. Suddenly she was jerked backward and clamped against a solid masculine frame. She writhed and clawed for freedom but her captor covered her face with a damp cloth.

Savanna knew that scent. It was chloroform. She knew what a debilitating effect it had, too. Frantic, she flung herself forward, flailing her arms to pelt her captor with blow after blow. But as before, the powerful sedative infiltrated her senses and stripped her of her will to fight.

“You are such a nuisance, Savanna,” the man muttered against her ear. “But this time there will be no mistakes.”

The masculine voice rumbled through the fog that clouded her brain. The golden lantern light in the cellar turned fuzzy gray then pitch-black. Savanna slumped helplessly in her captor’s arms. She knew this wasn’t the same man who had drugged her before. But she suspected it was the man she’d seen lurking in the shadows the night she’d been abducted outside her father’s cabin.

Savanna could have kicked herself for letting her guard down again. If Natalie, Fletch or Hawk came to harm because of her reckless neglect, she’d never forgive herself.

That was the last thought to drift through her dulled mind before the chloroform sent her spiraling into oblivion.

Fletch stared at his father in disgust. “I spent years trying to convince myself that you had a good excuse for not contacting Hawk and me. Like you
died,
” he said frankly. “Or maybe the army refused to release us into your custody because we are half Apache.”

“Apparently we gave you credit where it wasn’t due,” Hawk put in as he glared at their father. “We knew you weren’t much of a father or husband to our mother. But I’m ashamed to call you blood kin,
Oliver.
”

“All that I own will be yours one day,” Oliver insisted. “There’s plenty for all three of us right now. All you have to do is help me get that Cantrell woman jailed so she can stand trial.”

Fletch stared at Oliver in disbelief. “Jailed? You’ve been trying to get her hanged for a month.” Damn, this man had incredible gall! “You think I’d turn my back on Savanna and throw her to the wolves the way you turned your back on your Apache family? You think I’d betray her for the empty promise of inheriting your holdings in
the Chickasaw Nation?” He snorted incredulously. “Don’t presume that we live by your corrupt standards, Oliver. We don’t bow down to your gods of wealth and social position.”