King's Ransom Page 5

  “What happened?” she moaned, and stumbled, but didn’t fall. King’s strong, familiar arms gathered her close, pulling her safely against the comforting beat of his heart. She buried her face in the soft linen shirt, recognizing the aftershave and the low growl in his voice, and relaxed.

  King caught her just as her legs gave way. He swung her up into his arms, softly murmuring over and over against her cheek.

  Jesse clung to his strength. She felt as if she’d just run five miles uphill. She was limp and shaking, and more and more aware of the small group of people whispering among themselves as they witnessed the drama that had unfolded before their eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, slowly realizing what must have happened, and embarrassed at the turmoil she’d caused. She turned her tear-stained face up to King, searching his face for approval. All she saw was a hard, tight-lipped expression and flat, angry fury in his eyes. She thought it was directed at her. “I got scared,” she began. “And I couldn’t find the guard, and you weren’t here…”

  “No!” King said, brushing a gentle kiss against her brow. “Don’t you apologize for anything, Jess.” His dark eyes flashed as he continued. “We’re the ones who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have left you, and—” his voice held a definite promise of menace “—I don’t know where in hell your guard is, but I’ll bet I find out.”

  Jesse knew that tone of voice and the expression on his face. She’d never been the recipient of his anger, but she’d been a witness. It wasn’t pretty.

  “King,” she cautioned, trying to pull herself together enough to think. “You can’t do this.” Her tone was that of a mother to a child, and oddly enough, King paused to listen. “You can’t take the guard out behind Tilley’s Bar and Grill. We’re not back home in Tulsa. You can’t hurt the officer.”

  “No,” he muttered, “but I can damn sure hurt his feelings. And when I find him, I will.”

  Jesse sighed and leaned her head under his chin. She’d give him the right to that much. She wondered where the damn guard was, too.

  Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the need to be through with all this. She was so ready to leave the hospital, St. Louis, and the whole terrible nightmare behind. She wanted to go home.

  * * *

  Sundown came, and with nightfall also came relief from the sweltering heat. Up went the shades and windows, and whatever breeze was strong enough to penetrate the dense shrubbery around the shabby duplex was welcomed. Lynch sat in the darkness by an open window and listened to the sounds of the neighbor-hood, as one by one, voices quieted and lights went out in the surrounding houses. Finally, all that disturbed the night was the occasional frenzied barking of a dog that was quickly silenced by its owner’s angry shout.

  It was time. Lynch wasn’t waiting any longer. He needed out and he needed a drink. He had searched the unkempt closets all afternoon for something to wear that would cover his wounds and still not look out of place in the extreme heat. He’d come up with some old jean shorts and a T-shirt with a high neck and three-quarter length sleeves. It was the best he could do. His rummaging had solved another problem. He didn’t have any money, but he’d found a partially used pad of blank checks from his lucrative days as a working man.

  He felt a burning anger inside at the unexpected turn his life had taken. He wouldn’t be in this miserable shape if it weren’t for that woman. She’d messed up everything. He would have been fixed for life if she’d just cooperated. Instead, here he was, broke and injured, and it was all her fault. Then his anger turned toward the man who’d drawn him into this ill-fated scheme. Some big wheel he’d turned out to be. He hadn’t even paid him for his trouble, and he hadn’t come back like he’d promised.

  Lynch patted his pocket, assuring himself that the checks were in place. He had no remorse about writing a check on a closed account. He planned to be long gone before the check had a chance to bounce.

  Damn, but it feels good to be outside, Lynch thought as he pulled the front door shut behind him. He stood in the shadows, glancing furtively around to make certain he was unseen. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he started down the narrow drive with an almost jaunty air.

  He stood underneath the eaves behind the convenience store and waited for the lone customer to pay for his gas and leave. The fewer people who saw him, the better off he would be. Finally the customer left. Lynch hesitated no longer.

  “How ya’ doin’?” he asked the clerk, as he sauntered in and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Just need a few things,” he volunteered unnecessarily, and started searching the aisles.

  Carefully noting the customer was alone and on foot, the clerk nodded and continued to refill a cigarette rack over the cash register. It didn’t pay to be careless in a job like his and he didn’t like working this shift anyway.

  “This’ll do it,” Lynch said, as he carried the last of the items—two six-packs of beer—to the counter.

  The clerk nodded and began ringing up the items. He rang up the total, told Lynch the amount owed, and began to sack the small pile of foodstuffs.

  Lynch casually wrote out the check for the amount of purchase only, just as the sign at the cash register requested. Then he slid the check and his I.D. to the clerk.

  The clerk was tired, distracted by the fact that he was having to work this graveyard shift, and anxious to get the lone man from his store. He took the check without even asking for a second identification and stuffed it into the cash drawer.

  His “thank you, come again,” was muttered as an afterthought.

  Lynch was jubilant. He’d done it. He grabbed the sacks, one in each hand, and used his chest and stomach as props for the cumbersome load. But he couldn’t mask his pain as one of the heavier sacks pressed sharply against his healing cuts.

  “Hey, buddy,” the clerk asked, as he saw the grimace on the man’s face. “You all right? Need any help?”

  “Naw,” Lynch mumbled, biting his lip to keep from swearing as beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “No problem. I’m just a little sore. Had an accident a while back and I ain’t quite healed.”

  The clerk nodded, continuing to watch as Lynch juggled the sacks to a better, less painful position. Finally, satisfied that he could manage the load, he backed away from the counter and started out the door.

  “Hey, mister,” the clerk yelled sharply, “you’re bleeding.”

  Lynch cursed under his breath and continued walking out the door. The heavy sacks had re-injured a slow-healing cut. Hurrying more with each step he took, he refused to acknowledge the clerk’s observation. He didn’t look back.

  The clerk watched the man disappear into the darkness. Then something made him go to the door, just to see which way the man went. But he’d hesitated a bit too long. No matter how hard he looked, he saw nothing beyond the ring of light shining down on the store parking lot. He had started back inside when a police notice taped at eye level by the door caught his attention.

  It was a sketch of a man wanted in connection with the attack on a woman in St. Louis. As he read, he remembered seeing something about it on the news, but he’d heard no more and had forgotten all about it until he began to read the notice. He chuckled to himself, remembering as he read that the woman had turned the tables quite nicely on this creep. He looked at the picture again. Something…something about the shape of the nose and mouth looked familiar. He remembered reading that the man would have suffered multiple stab wounds on his upper body. His heart jumped, and then raced. What if…? He cursed, absorbing what he’d just read and then looked back out into the night.

  “Hell,” he muttered, “let it go. Who wants to get involved with the cops?” But he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind.

  He went back to stocking the shelves along the narrow aisles, trying to put the incident and growing suspicions out of his mind. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it, and with a snort of disgust, he went to the phone and dialed the number printed on the police sketch. It
probably wouldn’t amount to anything, but he’d never be satisfied until he made the call.

  The call from the convenience store clerk was the first solid lead the St. Louis police department had received. Shockey took the follow-up interview himself.

  He listened intently to the clerk’s recitation of events leading up to the blood appearing on the man’s shirt, took note of the type of clothing he’d worn and the odd, almost furtive manner in which he’d left the store.

  “Was he in here long?” Shockey asked.

  “No, he didn’t have over half a dozen items. If it hadn’t been for the six-packs of beer, it’d all have fit into one sack, easy.”

  “Do you happen to remember what he bought?” Shockey asked, and turned the end of his Eversharp, adjusting the new lead to just the right length.

  “Oh, I dunno,” the clerk muttered. “You know, the usual junk food. This stuff ain’t exactly supermarket quality. Uh…let me see. There was bread, a stick of that summer sausage, some cans of vienna sausage, the beer of course…and, oh yeah!” he added. “A package of Oreo cookies. I think that’s about all.” Then he remembered. “No, wait! I forgot about the other stuff. But it wasn’t nothing to eat. He got a bottle of peroxide and some of them big patch adhesive bandages.” He looked pleased with himself as he recalled the events. This was just like on TV.

  Shockey made note of the last two items and suppressed a surge of elation. It was too soon to assume this was his man. But, so far, so good. Shockey was not one to jump to conclusions.

  “So,” Shockey repeated. “He paid you, took his stuff and left. Is that about it? He didn’t happen to mention where he lived, or worked…anything like that?”

  “Naw. It was just like I said. I took his check. He took his food and walked out the door.”

  Shockey absorbed what the clerk had said.

  “He paid by check?” He couldn’t disguise the surprise and elation in his voice. This guy couldn’t be the one. Surely he wasn’t that stupid. “Did he have identification?”

  “Yeah, a driver’s license,” the clerk mumbled. “I didn’t ask for more. Here’s the check, though. Thought you might want to take a look at it. I almost forgot to tell you.”

  Shockey took the check, made a note of the information he needed, and handed a copy of the info to one of his detectives. “Here, check this out right away. I want to know if this guy’s on the up and up, and if his is a current address. And,” he added, “I don’t have to tell you to hurry, do I?”

  “No, sir,” came the answer, as the detective immediately disappeared.

  Shockey turned his attention back to the clerk, who was obviously growing weary of the repetitive questions.

  “You sure this is all you remember?”

  “Yeah,” the clerk sighed. “That’s just about it. Like I said, I almost didn’t call. He didn’t look exactly like the sketch, but I didn’t think I needed to remember what he looked like. He was just another customer.”

  But Shockey knew there was one vital piece of evidence still left to recover. “I’ll need to confiscate your surveillance tapes,” he said.

  The clerk looked blank and then understanding dawned as he looked up at the cameras above the cash register.

  “The tapes!” the clerk cried, excited that there was still more he could contribute. “He’ll be on the tapes.”

  This couldn’t be the man, Shockey thought to himself, as he carried the tapes to his car. Surely no one was so stupid that they would commit a crime like attempted murder, then pay for something by check and get videoed all at the same time. Shockey almost laughed aloud. He couldn’t be this lucky.

  CHAPTER 4

  King muttered an odd litany of gentle oaths as he heard the pilot’s announcement that they would be landing at Tulsa airport in less than five minutes.

  “Thank God!” Jesse heard him say, and couldn’t resist a smile. She knew how King hated to fly and how valiantly he’d tried to mask his fear just to be strong for her. He was always in control of every situation; so dependable and reliable. This one weakness he tried to ignore was really quite endearing.

  King’s solution to things over which he had no control was to ignore them. Unfortunately, it was very hard to ignore the fact that he was thousands of feet above the ground.

  Jesse’s stomach did a flip-flop of its own as the plane touched down on Oklahoma soil. In spite of all her protests and hesitation, she was very glad she’d decided to come with King. She knew that if she was ever to get over the intense terror she felt when she was alone, and the paranoia she had experienced in the hospital therapy room, it would be here, with those who loved her best.

  King’s fingers cupped her hand as the plane touched down, and she heard him sigh loudly in relief. Suddenly she was as anxious as King to get off the plane. She couldn’t wait to set foot on McCandless territory. She hustled King from the plane, and aided in locating their luggage. It was only after they’d loaded the bags into the black Lincoln King retrieved from the parking garage that she felt she was finally on her way home.

  “Thank you,” Jesse whispered to King, then leaned over and softly pressed the firm cut of his cheek with her lips.

  Her actions startled him. He was so intent on negotiating the ever-present detours on the downtown expressway that he nearly swerved into a large, orange barrel with a single flashing light.

  “Hellfire,” he muttered, as he quickly righted his course and looked about to see how many drivers behind and beside him were cursing his existence. “What was that for, girl?”

  His heart had skipped at least two beats and was now doing overtime, trying to compensate. He didn’t know why the simple act had so upset him. Jesse had kissed him plenty of times during her years at the Double M. But somehow this felt different. He angrily squashed the thoughts that swiftly entered his mind. This was no time to let his fancy wander. This was Jesse. He didn’t think of her like that…did he?

  “Oh,” Jesse sighed, her eyes dancing with delight. “It was for coming to get me. For bringing me home. For just being you.”

  King smiled. He, too, was glad she was home. She’d talked all during the flight about seeing Maggie, her old friends on the ranch, and schoolmates. She’d delicately not asked much about his confrontation with the negligent hospital guard. Jesse had talked about every thing and everybody except Duncan. King wondered why he was so conspicuously omitted. But before he had a chance to ask, Jesse’s excitement distracted his line of thought and it was forgotten in the delight he felt as she turned in the seat beside him.

  “We’re here,” she announced, pointing to the two giant oak trees that stood sentinel at the gate of the Double M Ranch.

  Jesse’s eyes were shining, a mirror reflection of the clear, blue brightness of the Oklahoma sky. She let herself absorb the healing power of home—the soft, rolling hills that flattened out into wide valleys, fenced off from the long, graveled road snaking between the scattered stands of native trees—home! Everything was so dry, wilted, and dust-coated. And Jesse thought she’d never seen anything as beautiful. Although they rode in air-conditioned comfort, it was obvious by looking out of the window, that this was just a stopgap from the sweltering heat. They needed rain. Oklahoma always needed rain this time of year. And, one day soon it would rain, and rain too much. Then they would have to cope with floods. That was Oklahoma. That was home.

  The ranch and outbuildings came into view as they rounded the last sharp curve and the stand of post oaks. The many barns, sheds, granaries, and corrals where King’s horses reigned supreme were in tip-top condition. The newly painted stalls housing the Arabian brood mares gleamed painfully bright against the landscape of quickly dehydrating vegetation. Jesse absently noted the height of prairie grass behind the horse barns and knew the early spring rains had sparked quick growth that was now close to being ready for harvest. Soon they would cut and bale the natural prairie grasses for highly prized horse fodder.

  The main house came into view as they
passed the first of the sheds where some of the farm machinery was stored. Jesse couldn’t suppress the quickening tears. It was so dear and familiar. She’d spent the better part of her life growing up inside those walls. Nothing looked different. It was still a long, rambling structure that had been added to only once, when Maggie came to live.

  Andrew McCandless had been in dire need of someone to oversee King’s teenage years and then later, just when Maggie thought raising children was behind her, Jesse had arrived.

  The house was cedar and brick with a verandah that ran the entire length of its front. It had not been land-scaped professionally, but the shrubbery around the house was varied and healthy. Someone had been watering vigorously to keep it all looking so green. The lawns had not suffered, and the trees and shrubs looked well cared for. Jesse suspected Maggie had left all that to Wil Turner, the foreman. He had a real affinity for growing things and made no bones about his expertise.

  “There’s Maggie!” Jesse cried, and then choked back a sob. It was obvious she had been expected. Several more people had gathered on the verandah, waiting to see for themselves that their little Jesse was truly okay. “And I see Charlie…and Turner…and Harvey and…oh, King,” she whispered thickly, trying not to cry.

  He’d barely stopped the car before Jesse was excavated from the Lincoln’s cool depths and swallowed by the crowd of well-wishers. She was quickly hustled into the house away from the heat, leaving King to deal with the luggage alone. He didn’t care. He would have carried suitcases for a month just to have her back.

  King placed the last of Jesse’s bags on her bed so she would be able to unpack. Her hands were still quite tender and she wouldn’t have been able to lift them. He hoped Sheila hadn’t left out anything important. From the weight of the bags, he doubted it.

  King smiled as he looked around the room. There were flowers on the dresser, on the bedside table, even on the window seat. Maggie had possibly overdone it a bit. Yet he knew how dear Jesse was to them all and suspected Maggie had sorely missed her presence over the last three years.