To Know Her by Name (10 page)

McKay turned and followed slowly. The last naked female he'd seen had been his sister. If memory served him correctly, they'd been taking a bath together. He'd been ten and she was five.

He walked into the cabin, moving slowly since it was darker in there. Pup's door was shut, but there was a slight glow coming from underneath. McKay went back to his room and slipped into bed. He felt incapable of normal thought. His mind was blank as to what to think, yet it swarmed with various notions. It was a long time before he actually fell asleep.

McKay's plans to rise early did not go exactly as he'd hoped. The sun was well into the sky by the time he had shaved, dressed, and readied to hit the trail. He found that Pup had left breakfast for him, but she was nowhere in sight. He knew what horrible regret he would feel if he had to leave without seeing her, but he made himself stay calm. If she were gone, he could leave her a note. He wondered if it would be insulting to pay her. The thought had no more formed when he pushed it away. He filled a plate with the food she'd left on the stove and sat down to eat.

He didn't want to gulp his food, but a certain excitement filled him. It was good to be headed out again. Never had he been out of circulation for three weeks, and it would be longer than that by the time he reached Denver, his ultimate destination.

His food gone, McKay made his bed, straightened his room, and gathered his gear. Leaving everything on the front porch, he went in search of Pup. He didn't think she'd left, but he still couldn't find her. His rented horse and saddle were in the small stable. He saddled his mount and led him into the morning sun. It was then that he spotted her. He tied the horse's reins to a post in front of the stable and walked over to where she was hanging clothes.

“Headed out?” She was the first to speak.

“Yes. Thank you for everything.”

“You're welcome.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then knowing he had to say something more, McKay said, “I'm sorry about Govern, Callie. I wish it could have been different.”

“He made his choices, McKay.”

She was so matter-of-fact, so forgiving, but McKay still felt awful. He was glancing around, trying to think of what to say next, when he spotted the cross. Beyond the ropes she hung clothes on and at the base of some thick pines stood a white cross, its paint faded and chipping. Without a word to Pup, McKay walked toward it.

A scant 20 paces took him to the foot of three graves. Two of them had engraved stones:
Davis J. Hackett 1826–1865. Anne M. Hackett 1829–1872
. The third grave was fresh, obviously belonging to Govern.

McKay found his heart asking why it never occurred to him that Callie herself had been forced to bury this man. Why had it also never occurred to him that this was Govern's family home? With all the risks Govern had taken, he could have been gunned down anywhere in Colorado, but he died here and was buried with his parents.

It wasn't until that moment that McKay realized Pup had come to stand beside him. He turned and looked at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he was, and she held her slim frame very straight as she looked down at the graves. As he expected, her face was unreadable.

“I am sorry that you had to go through all of this, Callie.”

“I know,” she agreed simply, her eyes still on the ground. “But it's good that he's buried here with Mama and Papa.”

She looked at him then, and, not surprisingly, found dozens of questions in his eyes.

“He was my brother,” she said simply, watching emotions chase across McKay's face. He opened his mouth, but Pup cut him off.

“Take care of yourself, McKay,” she said simply, and turned and walked away. She moved past her laundry, then the stable, and disappeared into the trees. McKay could have followed her, but it was obvious that she wanted to be alone. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many more things he wanted to say, but she'd walked away.

McKay's eyes dropped to the graves once again.

These people are dead and gone, Lord, but Callie and I are still here. We both need Your comfort and strength. Help us through this time and in the days to come.

McKay turned for his horse. He was back at the porch just a minute later and loading his gear. There was no sign of Callie, and there was nothing else to do but ride away.

9

Denver

“Mr. Crawford is here to see you, Mr. Wallace.”

“Send him in, Paine.”

“Do you want me to stay, sir?”

Nick Wallace was not put off by the question. His chief aide, Paine Whitter, often stayed to take notes and track down files, but this time Nick shook his head.

“I think we'll be fine, Paine. Thank you.”

“Very good, sir. I'll send Mr. Crawford right in.”

The heavy oak door closed, and Nick had a moment to think. He hoped that Carlyle was here about McKay. They could have sent a man to gather all the information McKay had compiled, but when he'd discussed it with Carlyle, they had decided to wait for McKay's return. Once they'd heard from Travis Buchanan, they knew it was only a matter of time. Nick now hoped that the time was at hand.

There was a brief knock and the door opened.

“Have a seat, Carlyle,” Nick spoke as soon as his coworker was in the room, the door closed behind him. “You have news?”

“Yes. McKay is back. He should be here in about 15 minutes.”

“Good. You know that I trust you with this operation, Carlyle, but it might be helpful to me if I can hear McKay's story personally.”

“I think that's a good idea. I won't question him on my own. I'll let you know as soon as he arrives.”

“You can come in here, or we can meet in your office.”

“I think we'll have more privacy in here, Nick.”

“Good. I'll expect you within the half hour.”

Carlyle left Nick's office, marveling not for the first time over what an excellent manager Nick was. Nick Wallace was Carlyle's superior, but as long as Carlyle got the job done, he was left on his own. Only twice in the last ten years had the older man pulled rank on Carlyle. The result had been so satisfying that Carlyle had never held harsh feelings. In truth, Nick was so good that whenever he got involved, the job would be wrapped up to everyone's satisfaction.

Now was another such case. The investigation involving the Hackett brothers and their possible lead to Duncan Phipps, a man who'd been successfully embezzling funds for years, was near and dear to Nick's heart. He wanted to be in on this one, and the operation could only benefit from his input.

Carlyle was back in his office for just a few minutes when a shadow filled his doorway. He looked up into Harrington's face.

“McKay.” Carlyle said the name softly as relief flooded him. He stood and moved to the door, waiting for McKay to enter so he could shut it behind him.

“Are you all right?” the older man asked.

“Yes.”

“You're thinner.”

“But I'm alive.” McKay smiled, and the men shook hands.

Carlyle felt oddly moved. This man was special, and his heart knew it. This agent was the cream of the crop. Loyal, street smart, and hardworking, McKay Harrington's integrity was unbeatable.

“Nick and I want to hear all about it. Are you up to the telling?”

“Certainly.”

It came as a surprise to McKay that the top man was going to be so closely involved, but every inch a professional, he nodded and obediently followed Carlyle from the room. The offices were only a few feet apart, so it was literally seconds later that he was shaking Nick Wallace's hand and being motioned to a comfortable chair.

Nick's office was large—large enough to hold his desk and several chairs. A small carpeted area sported a sofa, an overstuffed chair, and a small table. McKay was directed to the upholstered chair, and the two older men sat on the sofa facing him. He knew they wanted to know everything.

“The first thing I want to know, McKay, is if you should be here.” Nick wasted no time.

“I'm fine, sir. To tell you the truth, I've been back since late Thursday night. I was too exhausted to move or contact anyone, so I took the whole weekend and yesterday to rest. I'm not back to 100 percent, but I'm feeling stronger all the time.”

“Good. If you need to be excused, we understand.”

“I should be fine.”

“Very well. Can you tell us your story?”

“Yes, sir. I went to Boulder as directed and contacted Travis Buchanan. He came to see me on Saturday the twentieth, but our conversation was brief.”

“You wired me about that,” Carlyle reminded him.

“Of course, sir. I'd forgotten. Well, I was going to see him again on Monday, but your telegram arrived.” McKay was looking at Carlyle as he said this. “When I read that Govern was back in the area, I had to try to find him. I moved swiftly, and it paid off. I picked up his trail right away on Monday and tracked him into the hills for the rest of the day. I lost him just before dark, but it was as you said: He lived much higher up than we expected. At daybreak I picked up his trail again and tracked him right to a cabin tucked into the woods.

“I heard shouting and knew there was someone else inside, so I stepped into the clearing and called to him. A woman was out front and I spoke to her, but only briefly, before the first shots were fired. I shot back and dove for cover but was hit in the upper chest. The shots died down, and I knew if I didn't get help I would die. I figured I had nothing to lose by coming out.

“The next thing I remember is waking up and seeing this woman standing over me. I tried to talk to her, but I'd lost a lot of blood and she kept fading in and out.”

“Who was this woman?” Nick wanted to know.

“Her name is Callie Jennings,” McKay said, watching Nick's face.

“Callie Jennings?”

“Yes, sir. Have you heard of her?”

“As a matter of fact I have,” Nick said quietly. “Can you tell us any more?”

“Well, I was there for three weeks. Much of the first week I didn't have any idea where I'd been, but Callie told me I'd shot and killed Govern, and that I'd been shot myself. She said she took the bullet out and that I'd lost a lot of blood.”

“This woman took the bullet out for you?” Carlyle was amazed.

“Yes. I think she thought I was going to die anyway.”

“And you're certain Hackett is dead?” This came from Nick.

“Yes, sir. I saw the grave, and if he'd been alive when I stepped back into view, I wouldn't be here.”

Nick nodded, his face serious.

“What is it, Nick?” Carlyle wanted to know.

Nick raised his brows for a moment, but he didn't answer the other man. “McKay” he began, “I couldn't be more pleased that you're still with us, but it's ironic.” Both of the other men were staring at him, so he continued. “I have a name over on my desk. I was going to give it to you, Carlyle, as soon as McKay came back.”

“McKay's contact for Boulder?” Carlyle guessed.

“That's it,” Nick told him.

“Let me guess,” Carlyle now said, completely missing the way McKay's body was tensing. “Callie Jennings is the contact for McKay.”

“You got it. I find it interesting that …”

“It's not the same woman.” McKay's voice was flat, and the men on the sofa both turned to him.

“She doesn't seem the type,” Nick began, even as countless questions came to mind, “but I assure you, McKay, she's—”

“I tell you it's not the same woman.” McKay cut him off, his face set in disbelief.

“McKay,” Nick's voice grew a bit stern now, “if you'll just let me explain.”

“No.” he defied a superior for the first time in his career. “It's not that unusual of a name. I tell you it's not the same woman! I tell you you're wrong.” McKay had come to his feet now and so had Carlyle.