The Rivals (20 page)

Libby suddenly had an idea. “Maybe there are other blackmail victims,” she said. “You could request that anyone who's been blackmailed in a similar manner step forward, anonymously if they must, and tell you who's benefited. Surely that would lead us to the bad guys. And if we know who they are—”

Clay hugged her quickly and let her go. “A lot of cameras will be on me when I'm released on bail. I'll make my plea then.”

“Do you think someone will come forward?” Libby asked.

“Maybe. If anyone else has been blackmailed. And if they believe they can do it without the bad guys coming after them. These guys play for keeps.”

Libby stepped back when she heard Hank's stern voice outside the door saying, “No one's allowed to speak with Mr. Blackthorne except his attorney.”

“I am his attorney,” a confident voice replied.

Libby looked at Clay, a brow cocked in question, and he said, “That sounds like Morgan.”

Clay stepped to the door and pulled it open. “I'm so glad you're here, Morgan.” He reached out and shook the hand of a man who was blond like Drew, but without Drew's height or good looks.

Morgan DeWitt's smile was friendly and confident. Libby could easily imagine him as Clay's chief of staff, making sure Clay's orders got carried out. His tie was pulled up tight, his alligator belt and wingtip shoes looked new, and his tailored gray suit looked expensive but not ostentatious. He was just tall enough not to be labeled short, and he made no attempt to hide the fact his hairline was receding.

“If this guy's your attorney,” Hank said, “who's that behind him?”

Morgan stepped aside to reveal an absolutely stunning auburn-haired woman wearing a classic black Chanel suit and Manolo Blahnik high heels.

“Jocelyn!” Clay exclaimed.

Libby stood back as the statuesque young woman threw herself into Clay's arms.

“Clay! I've been so worried about you.”

Clay met Libby's eyes over the beautiful young woman's head and said, “This is Jocelyn Montrose. Giselle's younger sister.”

Jocelyn turned toward Libby, dabbing with a lace handkerchief at the tears in the corners of her beautiful violet eyes. Libby hadn't believed eyes could be that color purple, but Jocelyn's were. The woman's accent, a combination of crisp New England and seductive Paris, France, made her sound sophisticated and exotic, and the raspy texture of her voice raised the hairs on Libby's nape.

“I'm so glad to meet you, Libby,” Jocelyn said. “Clay and Giselle have told me so much about you and Kate.”

Of course Clay's late wife had known about Kate's relationship to her husband. It appeared that Jocelyn did, too. Libby glanced at Morgan DeWitt and realized he must know, as well. Clay couldn't have traveled to Jackson so often without explaining to his chief of staff why he was going there.

Libby worked hard to keep the frown from her face. How many people were aware of Clay's relationship with Kate? Was that how the kidnappers had known to take her? Had someone revealed Clay's secret to some enemy of his?

Jocelyn turned back to Clay and said, “Your father and mother were nice enough to give Morgan and me a ride here in their private jet. Now all I need is a place to stay. With all the reporters in town, there isn't a free room any closer than Pinedale.”

“There's room at Forgotten Valley, but Drew and I are both staying there, so you'd be stuck with a couple of bachelors.”

“I have an extra room,” Libby heard herself offer.

“Oh,” Jocelyn said.

Libby found herself the focus of the young woman's disconcerting violet eyes. “You're welcome to use my guest room until you can find another place.”

“You're so kind,” Jocelyn said in her cultured voice. “Thank you.”

Libby didn't want to like Jocelyn Montrose. The young woman was far too beautiful and sophisticated and charming—all the qualities Clay Blackthorne needed in a wife. She already seemed to have Clay's attention, and his affection, if that greeting was anything to judge by.

“Did Wilkerson agree to call a bail hearing?” Morgan asked Clay.

“At ten this morning,” Clay replied. “Drew's acting as my attorney.”

Libby saw one of Morgan's eyelids flicker before he said, “Don't you think you ought to get a criminal attorney in here to represent you?”

“I can do that once I'm out of jail,” Clay said.

“I can see we've interrupted you,” Jocelyn said to Clay. “Morgan and I can wait outside while you finish your conversation with Libby.”

“There are a lot of reporters in front of the building,” Libby said. “You might want to go out the back way.”

“I can give Jocelyn a ride to your house and wait for you there,” Morgan offered. “If you give me directions.”

While Libby gave Morgan directions, she was aware of Jocelyn leaning up to whisper in Clay's ear. She felt the green-eyed monster awaken in her breast and did her best to beat it back down.

“I'll see you later, Jocelyn,” Clay said.

“Au revoir,”
the statuesque woman said.

Hank stuck his head in the door after Jocelyn and Morgan had left and said, “You two about done?”

“One more minute please, Hank,” Libby said. When Hank was gone, Libby turned to Clay and said, “She's very beautiful. Are you going to marry her?”

Clay laughed a little too heartily. “She's my late wife's little sister. We're just friends.”

“Friends don't fly halfway across the country in the middle of the night to see someone accused of murder,” Libby said. “She's in love with you.”

“Maybe she is,” Clay conceded. “That doesn't mean I have the same feelings for her.”

“Don't you?” Libby asked.

Clay put his hands on her shoulders but Libby stiffened when he tried to pull her close. “We can talk about this when I get out of here.”

“What if you don't get out of here?”

“There's no chance of that,” Clay said. “I'm a public figure. I have no reason to run. I have property in this community and—”

“You were found in bed with a dead woman. That's rather difficult to explain away. What makes you think this judge will let a suspected murderer out on bail?”

Clay's lips curved in a sardonic smile. “My father's a good friend of the judge.”

Libby met his gaze and said, “So is mine.”

“They've faced off before and my dad has come up the winner,” Clay pointed out.

“My father's been waiting for a chance like this for a long time. He won't let the opportunity to punish you slip through his fingers.”

“Then I guess we'll have to wait and see how things turn out.”

“That's enough,” Hank said, pushing the door open. “Come on out of there, Libby.”

“Good luck at the hearing,” Libby said as she backed out of the cell.

“Don't worry about me,” Clay replied. “I'll be out of here by—”

The cell door slammed before he finished speaking.

A fierce argument outside the canvas walls woke Kate. There was enough morning light to see her hand in front of her face, which meant she'd survived her second cold, terrifying night of captivity. She scooted across the rough wooden floor on her hands and knees toward the drafty, boarded-up window, where the raucous sound was loudest, and listened hard.

“How the hell have you managed to get everything so fucked up?” a harsh male voice demanded. “Why wasn't that girl's body removed immediately? You've ruined everything!”

Body?
Kate thought.
Lourdes's body? Is Lourdes dead?
Her heart began to pound.

“He was drugged,” a gruff male voice replied. “How could I know he'd wake up so soon? None of the others did.”

“That's your job,” the harsh voice said. “You kill the girl, take pictures of the man and the dead girl in bed, and get rid of the girl. It's that simple.”

“If it's so simple,” the gruff voice replied, “why don't you do it yourself next time?”

Next time?
Kate felt her heart leap to her throat, threatening to choke her.
Am I next?

“There isn't going to be any next time,” the harsh voice said. “We're done. I'm going to have to come up with another plan to get what I want. This one isn't going to work anymore.”

“Just because this girl has a family looking for her—”

“You fool!” the harsh voice interrupted. “She not only isn't a runaway, that idiot from Midland picked up King Grayhawk's granddaughter!”

“Lester said he was ordered to pick her up.”

“Not by me! You two don't know what you've done. Every policeman in the country is looking for that girl. Christ! She also happens to be Clay Blackthorne's daughter.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that? Who even knew he had a daughter?”

Kate felt a chill run down her spine. Only a very few people knew the truth about her father. She could count them on two hands. Whoever was out there, whoever had been killing girls and taking pictures of them with drugged men, was someone who knew her mother or her father well enough to know that she was Clay Blackthorne's daughter.

Which made her situation all the more sinister. Whichever acquaintance it was couldn't take the chance of letting her go. Which meant sooner or later—probably sooner—she was going to be killed and dumped somewhere no one would ever find her.

Or left here to die of hunger and thirst.

When Lourdes had been taken last night, no food or water had been left for Kate. Her throat was raw and her tongue thick. What made it worse was knowing there was so much snow right outside the door. If she could reach it, if she could melt it, she could drink, and ease her thirst.

But it might as well be snow in Timbuktu, as much chance as she had of reaching it. She was going to die with her tongue swollen up and purple in her mouth, her eyes bugged out and her body shrunken like an old prune.

Kate cursed her vivid imagination. Her mother and father, and her stepgrandmother and grandfathers, were probably searching for her at this very moment. She knew from past experience that whenever someone in her family wanted something done, they made it happen. Neither Blackthornes nor Grayhawks let anything, or anyone, get in their way.

But what if someone in her extended family really was responsible for this murder and blackmail scheme? That person would be in a position to thwart the attempts to find her. That person could make sure all efforts to locate her failed. That person could make sure she died.

Kate ran through the short list of people who knew she was Clay Blackthorne's daughter: her mother, her father, Ren and Blackjack, King, her eldest uncles North and Matt Grayhawk, her father's wife Giselle—but she was dead—and Giselle's sister Jocelyn, her father's personal secretary and his chief of staff, and her father's cousin and partner at the ranch, Drew DeWitt, whom she thought of as another uncle.

Her father's relatives in Texas knew, as well, including her father's twin brother Owen and Owen's wife, and her father's younger sister Summer and her husband Billy. But they all lived in Texas, which made their involvement in a Wyoming blackmail scheme unlikely. But not impossible, she realized.

She had two more uncles and two more aunts on her mother's side, and it was possible they knew the truth, but they lived in Texas, and she'd never even heard any of them mention Clay Blackthorne.

Her father might have told a few people how she was related to him, but it had been made clear to her from the time she was old enough to understand words, that the truth might be devastating to his political career. She doubted he'd shared such potentially destructive information with many—if any—others.

Which of her relatives was capable of blackmail and murder? Kate's heart was pounding as she admitted the truth. Any or all of them, under the right circumstances.

Grandpa King had told her the story of her grandmother, Clay's mother Eve, who'd planned her own death by suicide and tried to make it look like Clay's father Blackjack had murdered her. Her uncle Owen was a Texas Ranger and had killed men. Her uncle North had accidentally killed a man—against whom he'd coincidentally held a grudge.

Her family were no strangers to violence.

Kate had learned to shoot when she was big enough to carry a rifle. She'd killed a buck once but had never gone hunting again. She hadn't liked the way she'd felt when she looked into the glazed brown eyes of the dying animal.

“So how do we get rid of her?” the gruff voice asked.

Kate was jerked from her musings by the gruff man's question and listened with bated breath to hear her fate.

“It's dangerous to move her right now,” the harsh-voiced man said. “There are too many cops out there looking for her.”

Silence. More silence. Kate wanted to scream at them to let her go. That she wouldn't talk. That she didn't know who they were. At least, she didn't recognize either of the two voices. Shouldn't she, if it was someone she knew?

Of course, the two men could have been hired by one of her relatives. Almost all of them were filthy rich, starting with both her grandfathers, who not only seemed to have all the money they could ever need, but seemed hell-bent on earning even more.

In the end, Kate couldn't remain silent. She had to beg for her life.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “I won't talk. I don't even know who you are!”

“Have you been in there listening all this time?” the harsh voice asked.

Kate hesitated a beat too long before she replied, “No.”

She heard the harsh voice swearing, using words so foul she'd never heard them before, though she had no doubt what they meant.

“You're a little too smart for your britches, young lady,” the harsh voice said.

“Please let me go,” Kate begged. “I promise—”

“Shut up!” the harsh voice said. “I need to think.”

Kate rose and pressed her ear against the planking that covered the plastic window, her eyes closed, her fingers crossed, praying for a miracle.

“We don't have to do anything right now,” she heard the harsh-voiced man say. “Nobody's going to find this place. It's too well hidden. Let's just let things cool down.”

“When do you want to meet again?” the gruff voice asked.

“In a couple of days,” the harsh voice replied.

In a couple of days she would be dead of thirst. “I need water and food!” she cried. “Please. I'm thirsty and hungry.”

“You want me to do anything about that?” the gruff voice asked.

“Might as well keep her alive,” the harsh voice replied. “If things go belly-up, we might need her as a bargaining tool.”

“I didn't bring anything with me,” the gruff voice said. “I'll have to go back to town and get something.”

“Wait till dark to come back here. I don't want you being seen,” the harsh voice said.

“I'm thirsty now!” Kate protested.

A flat hand slapped against the wood on the outside of the window and Kate jumped back.

“Get the hell away from that window,” the harsh voice said.

Kate stared at the light filtering through the boarded-up window, her whole body trembling with fear and fatigue. Then she realized she could see the two men standing outside.

She squinted as a ray of sunlight hit her eyes. At first the two men were merely black outlines. As her eyes adjusted, she began to make out the shapes of their faces. She didn't recognize the younger of the two and turned her attention to the other man.

Kate gasped in shock and horror when she realized who it was.