Colorado Abduction (10 page)

Burke watched as Carolyn stormed toward the house. The cowboy who accompanied her tried to take her arm and she yanked away so fast that he stepped back, giving her plenty of space.
Smart move.
After Logan’s women-belong-in-the-kitchen comments, Carolyn was volatile.

Though she could probably take care of herself, Burke still didn’t like the idea of being separated from her. When entering a dangerous situation, partners should stick together.

“I see the way you’re looking at her,” Logan said.

“I’m concerned,” Burke said. “She’s a victim. A kidnapping hurts the family almost as much as it hurts the person who has been abducted.”

“Carolyn’s a fine looking woman.”

Burke lied, “She’s not my type. She’d just as soon kick my ass as kiss me.”

The short cowboy who stood with them chuckled. Burke introduced himself and got the other man’s name—Wesley Tindall. If he got enough names for Corelli to investigate through criminal databases, they might have a clue about what actually went on at the Circle M.

He looked toward the bunkhouse where two guys were working on a huge piece of machinery. “Installing a generator?”

“I told you. We want to be self-sufficient. Except for the house, all our heat comes from propane.”

“But you still have to buy the propane tanks.”

“We have a big stockpile.”

Burke cringed inside. If it came to a showdown with the SOF, a stray bullet could penetrate the stockpile of propane tanks and cause an explosion that would rock the mountains. “Let’s get down to business, Logan. I’d like to interview your men. Someone might have noticed something unusual last night.”

“Like what?”

Logan’s voice sounded suspicious. The best way to get information from this guy was to constantly feed his giant ego. “Damned if I know. This case has me baffled. You might have some ideas.”

The handsome blond cowboy shrugged. “Ask your questions.”

“First, I’d like to get my bearings.” Burke took a couple of steps and looked beyond the bunkhouse to the west. “I’m a city guy. Pretty much lost in all this wide-open space.”

“I’ve lived here all my life,” Logan said smugly. “I know every rock and tree.”

Burke deliberately pointed in the wrong direction. “Is the Carlisle Ranch that way?”

“Not even close.” Logan aimed his forefinger like a gun. “The house is over there—only about four miles away as the crow flies. Following roads, it’s more than that.”

“And where’s the Widow Grant’s place?”

“Do you see that break in the hills? It’s an old Indian trail. Widow Grant lives just south of there.”

Carolyn had mentioned the Indian Trail at the edge of the south pasture where all the sabotage had taken place. Burke wondered if it was significant.

Logan asked, “Why are you interested?”

“Nicole was kidnapped by two men on horseback somewhere between the Widow Grant’s place and the Carlisle ranch house. Do you think the kidnappers came this way? Toward the Circle M?”

“Our land is fenced with barbed wire. Nobody came through here on horseback.”

“Why is it fenced? You’re not running cattle.”

“Horses,” Logan said. “We keep them in the barn at night and let them run free during the day.”

Looking toward the barn, Burke noticed a surveillance camera attached above the door. Another lens was visible on the mobile home. No attempt had been made to hide the cameras. “You have electronic surveillance.”

“State-of-the-art, equipped with night vision,” Logan drawled. “Some people don’t like us. We need to keep ourselves protected.”

Were the fences and the surveillance used to keep people out? Or to keep the Sons of Freedom in? “Any chance that I could take a look at the footage from last night? The cameras might have picked up something that would help me find Nicole.”

Logan showed no sign of being worried. “What time was she kidnapped?”

“Before dark. Somewhere between five and six o’clock.”

“You’re out of luck,” Logan said. “During the day, we have enough people around to make sure nobody breaks in. We generally don’t turn on the surveillance until after dinner. That’s around seven or eight. Too late to show anything that would be useful to you.”

He’d answered quickly, almost as if he knew the time of Nicole’s kidnapping before Burke had told him. Was she here? In addition to the mobile home, the house, two bunkhouses and the barn, there were several smaller buildings.
Storage sheds. A smokehouse. Other motor homes and trailers. There was probably a root cellar under the house.

Altogether, there were too many damn places for Logan to hide a kidnap victim…if she was still alive.

I
N THE RANCH HOUSE KITCHEN
, Carolyn was the only woman wearing jeans and boots. Her clothing wasn’t the only thing that made her different. She stood taller. She had energy, fire and ambition.

These three women—dressed in shapeless frocks, limp sweaters and leggings—seemed like the life had been drained from them. After they politely introduced themselves using only their first names, they returned to their chores, quietly performing their tasks with dedication and zero enthusiasm. Like prisoners, they seemed robbed of their will, caught in an endless cycle of boredom. What could possibly cause these young women to come to this place? Why did they stay?

“I hear you raise horses,” Carolyn said. “This would be a wonderful afternoon for a ride.”

“The men handle the horses,” said the tall blonde who appeared to be in charge of the kitchen. Her name was Sharon, and Carolyn guessed they were the same age—mid-thirties. The other women were at least a decade younger.

“We get to brush and curry the horses,” peeped a very pregnant woman who had identified herself as Sunny. She waddled across the kitchen floor with all the grace of a Mack Truck. Her formerly blond hair had grown out several inches at the roots.

“Do the men let you muck out the stables?” Carolyn asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Lucky you.” Carolyn laughed into a pall of silence.

There was about as much vitality in this group as a gathering
of tree slugs. Somehow, she needed to get them talking, to find out if they’d seen or heard anything that might lead to Nicole.

Sauntering across the gray tiled kitchen floor, she zeroed in on Lisa—a scrawny brunette with tattoos of thorns around both wrists. “You seem familiar,” Carolyn said. “Are you from around here?”

“No, ma’am.” She concentrated on chopping a zucchini into one-inch cubes. “I grew up in Denver.”

“That’s where I live most of the time. Maybe we met there,” Carolyn said. Remembering Burke’s suggestion that they get names that could be run through the FBI database, she asked, “What’s your last name?”

Sharon cleared her throat. “When we joined the SOF, we gave up our last names. This is a new life. A fresh start.”

Sunny teased, “Lisa wants her last name to be Richter. She wants to be Mrs. Pete Richter.”

“No, I don’t.” The paring knife in Lisa’s hand trembled. “I don’t like Pete. Not that way.”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not since your sister took off.” Sunny explained to Carolyn, “Both Lisa and her sister had a thing for Pete.”

“But your sister left?” Carolyn questioned.

“Yes.” Lisa centered another zucchini on the chopping block.

“Do you know where she went?”

A single tear slid down Lisa’s cheek. “She’s gone.”

“Forget about her,” Sharon said harshly. “Your sister was a fool. She wasn’t suited to our lifestyle.”

Carolyn rested her elbows on the counter beside Lisa and spoke quietly. “I’ve lost someone, too. My sister-in-law, Nicole. Yesterday, she was knocked unconscious and kidnapped. I’m trying to—”

“I know who you are,” Sharon said. “Carolyn Carlisle of
the fancy-pants Carlisle Ranch. You own half the county. Why should we help you?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do. Like it or not, we’re your neighbors. We need your help.”

In her business, Carolyn was accustomed to tense negotiations with international distributors and local ranchers. These three women were the most hostile group she’d ever encountered.

“Let me tell you about Nicole,” Carolyn said. “She’s a good and decent person. She’s worked all her life as a large-animal veterinarian. The first time I met her, she’d spent the night in the stall with a horse that had colic. She was exhausted, barely able to walk. But she was grinning because the horse recovered. A good person.”

“We don’t care,” Sharon said.

Carolyn continued, “Nicole married my brother five years ago. They’re deeply in love, trying to have a baby.” She went to stand beside Sunny. “It’s hard for Nicole to get pregnant. She’s had internal injuries.”

Sunny frowned. “That’s too bad.”

“When are you due?”

“In a couple of weeks, I think.”

“You’re seeing a doctor, aren’t you? Or a midwife?”

Sharon stepped between them, positioning herself as a shield and precluding any further conversation. This tall blonde, who would have been stunning with makeup, looked Carolyn in the eye. “You should leave. Now.”

Her pupils were dilated, and she licked the corner of her mouth. Was she on drugs? Carolyn said, “Logan wanted me to help you with lunch preparations.”

“Fine,” Sharon said. “Then you need an apron.”

“Right.”
I need an apron like I need a toe growing out of my forehead
.

T
HE INTERIOR
of Logan’s double-wide mobile home was an office with fairly high-end equipment. Apparently, the SOF goal to live like pioneers didn’t preclude the use of computers, scanners and GPS mapping instruments.

Burke operated under the assumption that Logan’s survivalist philosophy was a convenient cover story for some other endeavor. Probably criminal and lucrative. If Corelli could hack into these computers, they could decipher the real basis for the SOF in about five minutes.

Under Logan’s supervision, he’d spoken to ten different men, most of whom were typical taciturn cowboys. The notable exception was a guy with a thick Brooklyn accent who admitted that the only cowboys he’d seen before moving to Colorado were in the movies.

“That’s everybody,” Logan said. He sat behind his big oak desk with his chair tilted back and his boots propped up on top. “Like I told you, nobody saw anything out of the ordinary.”

“You said there were twelve men.” Though Burke hadn’t taken notes, he’d memorized every name. “I counted only ten. And I didn’t meet that rodeo star you mentioned. Butch Thurgood?”

Logan’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t like being caught in a lie. “Butch and Pete are in Denver for a couple of days.”

“And what about the ladies? I’d like to talk to them, too.”

“The women keep busy. They didn’t see anything.”

“Never can tell,” Burke said. “Sometimes, women notice more details than men.”

Logan stuck out his lower lip. Petulant, like a child. “I don’t encourage gossiping and nosiness.”

Or independent thinking?
For the life of him, Burke couldn’t figure out what Carolyn had ever seen in this petty
tyrant. Sure, Logan was handsome, but so was a tiger before it ripped your arm out of the socket.

Logan continued, “The women who live here are grateful to have a roof over their heads. Some of them came from the streets. SOF is a fresh start for them, and they’re happy to be obedient and hardworking.”

Burke sensed an undercurrent to this speech. Was there dissatisfaction among the ladies? A rebellion brewing? If he wanted to find out what was really going on inside the SOF, he needed to listen to the women. Maybe Carolyn was having some luck in talking to them.

He rose from the straight-back chair beside the desk. He’d already affixed one bug under the lip of Logan’s desk, but he had another listening device that he wanted to get inside the house. “Let’s pick up Carolyn at the house, and you can show us around.”

“Nothing special to see.”

“Looks like you’ve added a lot of improvements.”

“Nothing special,” Logan repeated.

“What about a meeting place?” He was hoping for a big room with slogans on the wall or other traceable clues. “It’s like you’re running a little town here.”

“That’s right,” he drawled. “And I’m the mayor.”

“Where do the kids go to school? Where do you all sit down to eat?”
Where’s your stash of propane tanks? Where would you hide a kidnapping victim?

“We meet where we eat in the men’s bunkhouse. It’s nothing fancy, just a big plain room with tables. There’s a wall that separates the meeting area from the sleeping area.”

“And a television?”

“Why would you think that? We’re trying to lead a simple life here. Like the noble American pioneers who settled the West.”

And wiped out the native population?
Burke wasn’t impressed with the phony rhetoric. “I assumed you had television because I saw a dish on top of the house.”

“We’re connected to the outside world. At times, it’s necessary to know what’s happening.” He shrugged. “Maybe, we watch the occasional football game.”

Finally, Burke found common ground. “I have a friend with a skybox at Invesco Field. If you come into Denver, I’d like to take you to a Bronco game.”

“Yeah?” Logan grinned. “A big guy like you probably played football.”

“I did.”

“Me, too. Quarterback. If I’d been on a halfway decent team, I would have made all state.”

From outside the office, he heard the whir of helicopter blades. The FBI search team must be arriving at the Carlisle Ranch.

The moment of friendly bonding over football vanished as Logan glanced up. “One of yours?”

“Probably. I requested assistance. Choppers and dogs.”

“Don’t expect to enter this property again.”

“Come on, Logan. We were getting along so well.”

“We shoot trespassers.” He pulled his long legs down from the desktop and stood in one smooth move. “We’re done here.”

W
EARING A PLAIN MUSLIN APRON
with old stains across the midsection, Carolyn looked up at the sound of the approaching helicopter. She felt like running into the yard and waving her arms, screaming to be rescued from the doldrums of the Circle M kitchen. This had been the most frustrating half hour of her life—peeling potatoes and trying to get these women to talk.