Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (32 page)

“How’d Wade do with that program of Fischer’s?”

Tag gave Boone a smug smile. “Pretty damn good, actually. He extrapolated a shit ton of information.”

“What?” Boone shot to his feet. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“It was close to two in the morning and he still has a lot of work to do on it. He’s going to drop Rebecca off in a little bit then go back home and keep at it,” Tag said. “How are your boys coming?”

He snorted. “I don’t even think they’ve made it that far, yet.”

Another swathe of sunlight beamed into the room. Tag looked up and groaned.

Boone chuckled. “Reynolds has been all over town asking questions about Alfons Huber. You’d think the guy was some sort of superhero instead of an architect.”

Tag grunted.

Reynolds stopped by Sam’s desk and smiled down at her.

Boone’s smile disappeared. He rose. “’Scuse me.”

His long, black-clad legs ate up the short distance and Tag couldn’t smother his grin at the way the agent deftly moved the stocky Reynolds away from Sam. Not that she couldn’t have handled him herself. She could take the researcher down with one hand. He studied Reynolds’s fit physique and adjusted it to two hands.

But he’d bet on his deputy any day of the week.

Fischer had just been living in luck when he’d gotten the drop on her at Jake Logan’s place.

Tag strode to the doorway. “You’re punctual, Mr. Reynolds,” he said.

The man smiled widely. “It is a common family fault, I admit. Even dear Alfons had a penchant for punctuality. Where would you like to start?”

“What information are you looking for?” Tag countered.

“I admit I would like very much to see the entire building. All the rooms, including the cells.” He gave the iron door to the prisoner cells an apprehensive look. “That is, if it’s clean back there? I understand there was a lot of blood. I don’t do well with blood, I’m afraid. Another trait my ancestor and I have in common. I heard he was at the Calico Queen one night and a gunfight erupted. A fellow was struck in the head and fell nearly on top of Alfons. Blood poured out of the man’s wound and all over Alfons, who fainted dead away.” Reynolds shrugged. “I’m not quite that bad.”

The guy talked so much it made Tag’s head hurt. “It’s all cleaned up,” he assured Reynolds. “I can give you a quick tour and answer a few questions. The wedding is at nine and I’d like to get over there and make sure nothing happens.”

“Yes, of course. I admire your dedication to your duty. May I leave my briefcase here?” Reynolds pointed to a desk.

Tag noticed Alcott’s backpack was still there.
He’ll be back for it.

“Sure.”

Reynolds popped the lock on the case and pulled out a digital camera then shut but didn’t latch the leather. “All right.”

For the next twenty minutes Tag endured question after question about Huber’s preference in building materials, observations on his efficient use of space, and a plethora of gushing compliments on how well organized the entire place was.

He didn’t know twenty minutes could last so damn long.

They returned from the jail cell and stopped at the desk. Rebecca had arrived but she was sitting at Doreen’s desk with a phone to her ear. She smiled and waved at him.

Tag nodded back.

Reynolds held out his hand and Tag shook it. He was eager for the man to leave.

“Sheriff, thank you for taking the time to show me around. I just know Herr Huber would be delighted to learn his buildings still stand. And without much renovation, either. Do you know the house he built for his wife in Boston is still upright and sound? Harleston House is what he called it. They moved there after leaving Freedom.” Reynolds leaned in. “I’ve heard he haunts the house searching for his wife. Ah, such a love. I think I would do the same.”

“I’m sure you would,” Tag said, but he didn’t have a clue what the man was babbling about.

“Mrs. Huber is said to have held séances every month trying to contact her husband after he passed. I find that so romantic.”

The man’s accent deepened with each word and Tag was half afraid Reynolds was about to break into tears.

“Yes, romantic. Well, glad I could help.” He checked his watch. 8:45. “Time for me to head to the Hitching Post.”

Reynolds replaced the camera and a notebook in his attaché case and snapped it closed. “I would like to attend myself,” he said.

For a stone-cold minute Tag was afraid the man would ask to join him.

“But I’m afraid I must leave now. My flight is at twelve and you know how Austin traffic is.”

“A crap shoot at best. Good call on leaving early,” Tag said.

“Good-bye, Sheriff. Thank you again.”

Reynolds walked down the aisle. He said good-bye to Sam and Boone then nodded to Rebecca, who had been staring at him with a puzzled expression. As soon as Reynolds looked at her though, Tag saw her face smooth into a polite mask. Finally the man pulled open the door and stepped into the Texas sun and Tag breathed a sigh of relief.

Rebecca strolled up to him. She looked hesitant but happy to see him.

To hell with propriety.

“Come here, you.” Tag hauled her into his arms and hugged her tight.

Rebecca’s laugh smothered against his chest but her arms wound up his back and squeezed.

“Think she can breathe?” Boone asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied. “He’s squishing her pretty good. I know Yankees are generally disliked but she’s kinda grown on me.”

Tag released Rebecca and glared at them. “Wiseasses.” He looked down at her. “What did you find out from Garner?”

Her face went solemn and a little pale. “They identified the finger. I mean they identified to whom it belonged. A woman named Carrie Dawson.”

“Do you know who she is?” Boone asked.

“No.” Rebecca swallowed hard and Tag felt a tremor go through her. “They haven’t found the rest of her, either.”

“Did you give Garner your tip?” Tag asked.

She nodded. “They have a lead on a print they got off the courier box containing the finger.”

“Who did you tell him about?” Boone demanded.

Her spine stiffened. “Detective Garner can handle this, Boone.”

“I still want to know.”

“No.” She turned her back on him and looked up at Tag. “What do you say we go to a wedding?”

His heart somersaulted and he grinned widely. “Let me get my hat.”

Moments later they joined the throngs of people heading down the various streets toward the Hitching Post. The couple getting married had invited everyone to the ceremony and since Freedom loved a good wedding, nearly the whole town was in attendance.

A live quartet played quietly just to the side of the altar. Lewis paced nervously in front while his best man tried to calm him down. Four more young men lined the front of the venue. Each gleamed in silver tinted tuxedoes with sleek gray cummerbunds. They looked like mafia wannabes.

Tag settled Rebecca in a chair near the back then leaned against one of the poles holding up the wooden pavilion. He scanned the crowd and nodded to the folks. Clint Howard, Jessie Vargas, and Donald Alcott all sat in one row. Tag was surprised to see the reporter until he remembered the kid said covering the event was his original reason for being in town.

Hank, Betty, and Catherine were close behind them but Hank kept craning her neck around and staring at The Page Turner. Her face was twisted in a mass of concern.

Arte Kushing, clad in a hideous brown-and-black plaid sports coat, sat behind Hank and patted her shoulder. Tag frowned and wondered what had the woman so upset. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Maljib and Bosco Evans hurried to vacant seats beside Arte. The men sat down just as the quartet launched into the Bridal March. Everyone rose and turned to look back.

A collective gasp followed by a long ah of appreciation swept through the congregation. Tag studied the bride. Her raven-black hair was piled loosely on her head and shot through with a diamond tiara. Her gown was cut low and showed off her ample—and probably fake—cleavage. The bodice sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the slats of the pavilion and he squinted from the sharp glare. The skirt fell in a straight sheath to her feet which were also encased in blinged-out shoes.

Tag snorted.

He’d bet a month’s salary she was all flash and not much substance.

Rebecca elbowed him.

She had a frown on her face and was looking at the crowd. He followed her gaze. Betty and Catherine were gathered around Hank, who had tears streaming down her face.

A knot formed in Tag’s gut. Those did not look like happy tears. He started to walk over but Rebecca grabbed his arm. “After the ceremony,” she muttered.

The woman in front of them turned and shushed her.

Tag glared and the woman spun back around.

Once her father had delivered Kristen to the groom, everyone settled back into their seats. Tag again took up residence against the pole.

Pastor Babbage cleared his throat. “It is my honor to welcome you to the wedding of Kristen and Lewis. They have chosen to pledge their lives to each other here at the Hitching Post in honor of love and hope.” The pastor beamed at the couple. “Kristen was especially taken with the deep love that Alfons Huber held for his wife. Indeed, our architect so adored her that when she died in 1879 he became a lost and broken man. Legend had it that she appeared to him one night and pleaded with him to rejoin the living. To show the world he was still a brilliant man. The visit seemed to shake him from his stupor and he did, indeed, rise up from despair. He traveled around the country giving lectures on architecture and the power of love.”

Babbage’s face grew solemn. “I like to think that, when Alfons died two years later during a train robbery, his wife welcomed him with a glad and loving heart.”

The woman who’d shushed Rebecca sniffled loudly.

Tag rolled his eyes.

“If you sit very still and listen closely, you can hear their sighs of contentment whispering in the trees that surround our pavilion. It is as if the very wood holds on to their love and imparts that most wonderful feeling to all who wed here.”

Feet shuffled and chairs squeaked as people shifted. Tag sure as hell didn’t hear any sighing. The pastor was just warming up and launched into a monologue about the sanctity and strength of love and marriage. Tag checked his watch. He was surprised to find it close to nine forty-five.

The pastor continued to drone for another ten minutes before finally, blessedly, beginning the actual ceremony. Five minutes, two rings, and one very long kiss later, the crowd was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Casternak.

Everyone rose and applauded as the happy couple walked down the aisle then darted left into the bridal suite.

The wedding coordinator took the mic and informed everyone who had a paper invitation the reception hall was open and Kristen and Lewis would join them after photos.

“That’s strange,” Rebecca murmured.

“I don’t blame them,” Tag said. “I’d only feed the people who had invitations, too. The rest of these guys are like locusts. They’d have nothing left but olives in no time flat.”

“Not that.” A delicate frown furrowed her brow. “The pastor said Huber died in 1881 during a train robbery.”

Tag looked over the aisle where Hank was struggling to her feet. Her tears were dried up but now she had the look of a bull about to buck a cowboy. She headed in his direction.

“So?”

Tag’s phone rang. “Hang on,” he told her as he pulled it out of his pocket. He tensed as he answered. “What’s up, Boone?”

“We got a hit on the DNA. Both samples from Fischer’s jail cell and his hotel room match.”

Tag inhaled sharply. “Who is it?”

“It’s a guy by the name of Allen Van Sisk, plus about a dozen other aliases. The interesting thing is he’s been all over the globe in the last ten years. Including Afghanistan around the time of the ambush. He’s got his fingers—or
someone’s
fingers—in interesting and profitable pies. Things like selling munitions and slave trading.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tag said. He reached for the pole just as Hank pulled up in front of him. Rebecca put her hand on his chest.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Sheriff, something’s dreadfully wrong,” Hank said.

He held up his palm. “What else?”

“I don’t think Van Sisk is working alone. He seems higher up the food chain than Fischer but I’m convinced he’s still just a minion. I’m downloading his rap sheet and dossier now.” Boone’s voice went flat.

“Send a picture to my phone.”

“Will do.”

Tag ended the call and looked first at Rebecca then Hank. “What’s wrong, Hank?”

“Sadie is missing.”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?” He looked around the area but didn’t find her. She would
not
have missed this wedding. She
never
missed a wedding held at the Hitching Post. Not only did she love the whole wedding atmosphere but she tended to rake in a ton of customers once the festivities were done.

“She didn’t come,” Hank said. “I wanted to go to her apartment but Betty and Catherine talked me out of it.” She glared at the two women.

“I thought she was still mad at Hank,” Betty said.

“Mad about what?”

“Hank kissing Mr. Reynolds. Sadie was sweet on him,” Catherine said.

Hank lurched around. “I did not kiss him. I don’t know how that vile rumor got started but it wasn’t true. Sadie is my best friend and I would never hurt her like that.”

Catherine nodded. “I know, I know. It could also have something to do with Donald Alcott,” she said.

“Why?” Tag scanned the milling people for the reporter but didn’t spot him.

“Sadie caught him snooping on her desk yesterday afternoon. He gave her some cock-and-bull story about having dropped his pen there but she didn’t buy it.”

“What time was that?” Tag asked.

“About three or so.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Hank confirmed. “She was so hot she came into the store and told me all about it.” Hank’s face crumpled again. “She asked me about kissing Reynolds and I told her I didn’t. I swear it’s true. She gave me a little smile and walked away. That’s the last time I saw her. She didn’t come to dinner like she was supposed to.”