Convictions (22 page)

Hank sighed, his adrenaline draining away. "I don't know. Maybe. Or it just might've been that when I pulled a bale out, it made the whole stack unstable."

Ted's face darkened. "Report it to the sheriff."

Hank turned and noticed that Jordan's official SUV was parked by the house. That's right—Olivia had said he'd be coming today to question everyone about the woman's death.

"Tell him what happened," Ted said. "If someone is trying to kill you, maybe the sheriff can find out who it is."

Although correct in theory, Hank doubted Jordan would give him the time of day, much less look into an attempt on his life. However, maybe informing him of the incident would make Hank look less like a suspect.

"Is he in the house?" Hank asked.

"Chow shack. There's been a steady stream of men going in to talk to him, one at a time. I hear he's asking everyone about Ms. Holcomb's death."

At least the lawman hadn't decided to merely pin her murder on Hank. "Thanks."

"No problem." Ted returned to the mare.

Wrapping his left arm around his waist, Hank shuffled across the yard to the dining hall. The door was ajar, and he knocked then entered without waiting for a reply.

Sheriff Jordan glanced up, and irritation creased his brow. "What do you want, Elliott?"

"I'm here to report an assault."

Jordan's eyes widened slightly, as did Slim's, whom he was questioning. Out of his side vision, Hank noticed Olivia step out of the kitchen, her expression both frightened and grim. She'd obviously heard his announcement.

Jordan turned back to Slim. "That's all for now. Thanks for your cooperation."

Slim stood. "Sure. No problem, Sheriff."

Clearly not wanting to get involved, the lanky man ducked out.

Jordan got to his feet and approached Hank, his expression suspicious. "What're you up to, Elliott?"

Hank's temper, already shortened by his body's aches and the adrenaline rush, neared its end. "Somebody just tried to bury me under a ton of hay bales."

Jordan eyed the bump on Hank's temple and his general dishevelment. "Looks more like you ran into somebody tougher than you."

Olivia stepped forward. "Sheriff, this man is reporting a crime."

Jordan cast a skeptical glance at her. "I thought you'd be more cynical, you being a big-city ADA."

Olivia tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. "And I thought you'd be more understanding, you being a small-town sheriff."

Jordan clenched his jaw. He clearly didn't like her throwing his words back at him.

"Tell us what happened, Hank," Olivia said, her tone professional but concerned.

He described how the wall of bales had tumbled down and how he'd managed to save himself from serious injury. Hank had to give Jordan credit—despite his skepticism, he jotted down notes on his pad.

"Who would want to hurt you?" Jordan asked.

"Could be half a dozen different men," Hank replied.

"Do you go out of your way to piss off people?"

Fuck you.
Hank barely managed to suppress the words. "No, but other people seem to go out of their way to piss
me
off." He glared at the sheriff deliberately.

Jordan's jaw muscle jumped. "Show me where it happened."

Hank led the way and was aware of Olivia following them across the yard. Once in the shed, he pointed to the mess of bales on the ground. "I was in the middle of that."

"This looks more like attempted murder than assault," Olivia said.

"Yes, ma'am," Hank said.

Jordan wandered among the bales, then stopped and looked up from where they came from. Without a word, he climbed up the stored bales to look around.

"Were you hurt?" Olivia asked softly.

He turned to find her standing close, and words deserted him for a moment. The concern in her expression almost made up for Jordan's indifference. "Bruised, but nothing serious."

She touched the knot on his forehead, her fingers cool. "Did you black out?"

"No," he said, his voice made husky by her proximity. "Just grayed out some."

"You should go to the hospital. You could have a mild concussion."

"Wouldn't be the first time." He captured her hand and lowered it before her touch drove him crazy. "I'm fine."

Sheriff Jordan rejoined them, his expression somber. "The bales are packed pretty solid up there. It's doubtful they came down on their own."

"So you believe me?"

"I believe those bales were probably pushed down intentionally." Jordan narrowed his eyes. "I also think that someone trying to throw suspicion off himself might try a stunt like this."

Hank started toward him. "You son of a—"

Olivia grabbed Hank's arm. "Stop it." Her glare shifted to Jordan. "If Mr. Elliott did do this to draw attention away from the murder investigation, how did he get hurt?"

Jordan eyed the knot on Hank's forehead. "I don't know," he said grudgingly. "I'll ask around. Maybe someone saw a person hanging around the shed, but that's about all I can do."

"Fine," Hank said through gritted teeth.

Sheriff Jordan nodded to Olivia, and his long legs carried him out of the shed.

It took a moment for Hank to realize he and Olivia were alone. "You should get back."

"Come with me and I'll get you some ice for that bump," she said.

"It's all—"

"No, it's not." She took a deep breath and let it out in a shaky gust. "Damn it, Hank, you could've been killed."

He shrugged. It felt odd having someone worry about him. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. "But I wasn't."

Olivia's chin lifted, revealing her stubborn streak. "Do you think this was related to Melinda's murder?"

Buying time to come up with an answer, he scratched his back where the chaff and dust had settled. "No. The killer wouldn't gain anything by getting rid of me. As long as I'm the main suspect, the investigation is centered on me."

"Did you talk to anyone about the murders?"

"I'm not an idiot, Olivia," he snapped.

She drew back. "I didn't say you were," she said softly. "But if you're starting to nose around, maybe someone is getting nervous."

Hank thought a moment. "Yesterday Rollie and I had a few words. He practically accused me of killing the Holcomb woman."

"Could he have killed Melinda?"

Hank had already considered that angle, but although the bully couldn't seem to speak two words without provoking him, he wasn't certain. "He might have. Buck mentioned something about Rollie having a run of bad luck." He snorted. "He doesn't know what bad luck is."

"I'll ask Dad about Rollie, find out what he knows about him."

He arched an eyebrow.

She held up her hands. "Just Dad. I promise." A cunning look entered her eyes. "I'll bet Sheriff Jordan will be talking to Rollie this afternoon, since he hasn't yet."

"Olivia," he warned.

"I agreed I wouldn't talk to the hired men or the other inmates, and I won't." She grinned. "But it's amazing how voices travel in the dining area."

Olivia's obvious enjoyment at playing spy made it hard for Hank to be annoyed. "Be careful."

"Don't worry." She looked at the fallen bales, and her confidence disappeared, replaced by grimness. "Nobody tried to bury me under fifty hay bales."

Buck and the judge entered the shed, their expressions somber. If they were surprised to see Olivia with Hank, they didn't show it.

"Sheriff Jordan just told us what happened," Judge Kincaid said.

"Did he tell you it was deliberate?" Olivia asked.

"He said it could've been accidental, but he didn't think it was." Kincaid's breathing seemed to be labored. "Why would anyone do this?"

"It's not exactly a secret that some of the men aren't fond of him," Buck said, motioning to Hank.

Kincaid shook his head. "I don't pay the men to like each other. I pay them to do their jobs."

Hank had never heard the older man so upset. "It's okay, sir," he reassured. "Whoever did this probably won't try anything else."

"That doesn't matter. I don't want someone like that working on my ranch."

"I'll do some asking around, Judge," Buck volunteered. "If it was one of the men, I'll find him."

Hank opened his mouth to argue, to tell Buck he'd take care of his own problems. But then his gaze strayed to Olivia, who stood there, her face thoughtful but her eyes filled with worry. For him.

And for the first time since Hank was placed in prison, he had friends in his corner.

The
son of a bitch will be punished. It's my duty and my right to rid the world of scum like him so the others will be safe. I caress the leather and allow the pure scent to calm me. Until tonight...

Chapter Sixteen

With a dish towel over her shoulder, Olivia wandered out of the kitchen into the dining hall. Connie had called last night, letting them know she'd be back in a few days. On one hand, Olivia was glad she was returning to take over the cooking, but on the other, she'd come to enjoy the job. But then, she had her real job waiting for her in Chicago.

Sheriff Jordan sat at a comer table, obviously not wanting any eavesdroppers while he interviewed the hired men. She wiped the tabletops, using the task as a means to get closer to the sheriff, who was questioning Mantle.

"Had you seen Ms. Holcomb prior to her visit to the ranch?" Jordan asked the rat-faced prisoner.

"No, sir," Mantle replied respectfully, his hands folded in his lap.

"Did you ever speak to her?"

"I only saw her from a distance when she was here, Sheriff."

"Where were you the night she was murdered?"

"Sleeping." He leered. "Alone."

Sheriff Jordan grunted, and Olivia got the impression he'd gotten that same answer countless times today.

"One last question, Mr. Mantle. Where were you living eight years ago?" Jordan asked without inflection.

Mantle's eyebrows drew together. "Eight years ago?"

Olivia had the impression he was stalling for time. Jordan caught her gaze and frowned slightly.

Oops. Busted.

She moved to the next table and kept her back to the two men but remained near enough that she could still hear them.

"Um, I was in Omaha, working in an insurance office," Mantle finally replied. "I can give you the name of the company if you'd like, Sheriff."

"What was it?"

Mantle rattled off a name, which was probably legitimate. Although as smarmy as a crooked politician, he was also too smart to give a fake company name. In this day and age, information like that was too easy to confirm or disprove.

"Is that all, Sheriff?" Mantle asked.

Jordan leaned back in his chair and eyed him. "Did you know a Sandra Hubbard?"

"No, sir. Should I?" The prisoner's pious attitude made Olivia roll her eyes in disgust.

"That'll be all, Mr. Mantle. Thank you for your cooperation."

"So I can go?"

"You can go back to work," Jordan said with a note of finality.

Keeping her head down, Olivia could see the prisoner leave out of her side vision. She started back to the kitchen.

"Ms. Kincaid," Sheriff Jordan called out.

So he wasn't going to let her off the hook. She pasted on a smile and turned to face him. "Yes, Sheriff?"

"Your act didn't fool me for a minute." Although his tone was serious, a slight smile twitched his lips. "So, what did you think?"

Seeing this as an opportunity to pry for information, Olivia approached the lawman. "I think Mantle would sell his mother if the price was right."

Jordan shrugged. "He said he didn't know either woman. And although he may have had the opportunity, so did almost everyone else on the ranch, including your friend Elliott."

The way he said "friend" made it sound like she and Hank were involved in a hot and heavy affair. "Hank didn't kill anyone."

"He had means and opportunity for both victims. All we're missing is his motive, but once we find that, we've got him."

"Even if—and it's a big if—you come up with a motive, you still couldn't convince me he's a murderer."

Jordan shook his head in exasperation, then stood and stretched. Olivia heard the muffled popping of joints and bones.

"When are you going to interview Rollie?" she asked.

Jordan frowned and glanced down at the list of employees her father had printed off from his computer records that morning. "Roland Pepper?"

The name caught her unaware. "Probably. I just know him as Rollie."

"Why are you interested in him?"

"He's been giving Hank grief since the prisoners got here." She paused, wondering how much Hank had told the lawman. "He might've been the one who pushed those bales."

The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "So why didn't Elliott mention him?"

"Because he figured you wouldn't do anything about it." She arched an eyebrow, challenging him to deny it.

Jordan's cheeks flushed as he stiffened. Olivia didn't need a body language dictionary to tell her that she'd struck a nerve. But she wasn't about to pussyfoot around the issue, not when a man's life was in danger. And that life was Hank's.

"I sure can't do anything about it if he doesn't tell me," Jordan grumbled.

"When you talk to Rollie, ask him where he was this morning."

The sheriff stared at her a moment longer, then jotted something in his notebook. "So what sparked the bad feelings between Elliott and this Rollie?"

Olivia shrugged. "You'll have to ask Rollie."

Jordan rubbed his eyes, which looked bloodshot and tired. "Would you happen to have some fresh coffee back there?"

"There's some left from lunch. I can—"

"That's all right. I'll get it." He started to the front where the big restaurant-style coffeemaker sat, but paused and turned back to Olivia. "I'm bringing this Rollie in next. I'm not too proud to admit that you've probably had more experience with witnesses than I have. If you want to listen in, go ahead, but I expect you to be discreet about what you hear. Understand?"

Olivia smiled with satisfaction. She was being offered more than she'd expected. "Yes, sir."