Chapter Twelve
Stacy had heard of people seeing red, but she’d never experienced this red haze of anger clouding her vision. “My son is not safe with anyone but me. And you are insane if you think I’m going to go anywhere and wait until the government decides they can get around to returning him to me.”
“He’s in no danger,” Sullivan said. “As long as he’s safe...”
“How do you know that? You told me earlier you hadn’t even seen him. Or was that a lie to try to shut me up?” She stood, and Patrick rose also, prepared to prevent her from launching herself at Sullivan. “He is away from his mother, with people he doesn’t know. He’s alone and afraid and you will not leave him there one second more than necessary.”
“Mrs. Giardino, we are talking about a major investigation that has ramifications with the security of the United States,” Sullivan said.
“What does Nordley have to do with national security?” Patrick asked.
“He’s head of the Senate’s committee on homeland security.”
“I don’t care if he’s best friends with the head of the Taliban,” Stacy said. “You can investigate him after you rescue my son.”
“We really can’t do that.” Sullivan looked to Patrick. “Explain to her how important this is.”
“I can’t.” Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t justify leaving a three-year-old in a dangerous situation for the convenience of an investigation.”
“He’s not in any danger.”
“I don’t agree. And I won’t go along with any plan to delay his rescue.”
“Then it’s just as well the decision isn’t up to you.” Sullivan stood also and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” Stacy asked.
“Back to do my job. I’ll be in touch.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Patrick asked.
“All that you need to know.”
“Have you seen Carlo?” Stacy asked. “Is he really all right?”
Sullivan looked from one to the other. “I’m not going to discuss this investigation with you any further. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”
“I have a job with this investigation, too,” Patrick said. “The Bureau isn’t running this show.”
“It is now. But don’t worry—you still have a role. Your job is to protect Mrs. Giardino.” He smirked. “Obviously, you’re taking that assignment very seriously.” He opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Sullivan left. Patrick moved to the window and watched the agent get into a black SUV and drive away.
Stacy watched over Patrick’s shoulder. “Aren’t you going to stop him?” she asked.
“I can’t.” He turned away from the window. “That last dig about you was his way of letting me know he won’t say anything to my supervisors about our relationship as long as I stay out of his way. If I make trouble, he’ll have me reassigned. You’ll get a new handler who’ll have orders not to let you get near the investigation.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. What are we going to do?”
“At least if I stay with you we can work together.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “We’ll find Carlo.”
“But he ordered you to stay away.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bent the rules to help someone I was sworn to protect.” He’d sent Elizabeth Giardino a gun, though doing so had been out of line. Directly disobeying orders to look for Carlo was a much more serious transgression; it could cost him his career.
“You’d risk your job for me?” she asked.
“Finding Carlo is the right thing to do,” he said.
“How will we find him? We don’t know where the ranch is.”
“The same way Sullivan probably found him—we’ll talk to people and listen to what they have to say. We will find him, Stacy. I promise.” He squeezed her shoulder. And when they did, he’d do what he had to do to reunite the child with his mother, even if it meant defying his bosses and the government.
Stacy dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before, which were at least a little cleaner after their soak in the tub and a night spent drying over a chair. Patrick wore clothes that had belonged to the pale-eyed man, though the shirt was a little tight across his broader shoulders. They packed their few belongings into Pale Eyes’s suitcase and prepared to leave. They were on their way out the door when Stacy remembered the other suitcase. She put her hand on Patrick’s arm to stop him. “Wait. What about the money?”
He nodded and went to retrieve the second case from under the bed. He unzipped the top and surveyed the neat stacks of bills inside, as if to reassure himself they were still there.
“We didn’t tell Sullivan about this,” she said.
“I never told my office, either.” The oversight wasn’t deliberate; he’d simply forgotten with everything else that had happened. He zipped up the case. “I’ll be sure to report it the next time Sullivan bothers to get in touch. In the meantime, we might be able to use it as a bargaining chip.”
“With the feds or with Uncle Abel?” she asked.
“Maybe both.” He carried the case out to the car and locked it in the trunk. He didn’t know if fifty thousand dollars was enough to persuade anyone involved in this case to act differently, but the money might link up some of the players. Had the two thugs been delivering or receiving the cash? Who had put it into that suitcase? He added these to the growing list of unanswered questions in this case.
* * *
LIGHT SNOW FELL as they drove toward Crested Butte. Stacy didn’t ask what they’d do when they got there. Stacy trusted Patrick had a plan. All she could focus on was Carlo and praying that he was indeed all right. Maybe Abel and Willa liked little children and they’d be kind to him and do what they could to calm his fears. It wasn’t the same as having his mother with him, but she wanted him to feel safe. To know he was loved. Wasn’t that the best security of all, to know that someone cared about you and wanted to protect you?
“Do you think Agent Sullivan is right about the reason Carlo was kidnapped?” she asked. “To gain control of the money?”
“Greed motivates a lot of crimes. But you said Abel has money of his own?”
“Sam always said he did. He referred to him as ‘my brother, the rich rancher.’”
“What kind of ranch does he have? Cattle?”
“Horses, I think. Maybe some cattle, too. I’m not sure. Sam always talked about Abel ‘playing cowboy’ and said he was rolling in the big bucks.”
“Maybe he was being sarcastic.”
“Maybe. An honest rancher probably doesn’t have as much money as a mobster.”
“We don’t know that he’s honest,” Patrick said.
“Kidnapping isn’t honest,” she agreed. “And if he was the one who sent those two thugs after us in the canyon, how did he know to hire people who had worked for Sam, unless he and Sam had been in contact—even working together—all along?”
“I wonder if the cash in that suitcase was payment to the thugs for going after you—or if they were supposed to deliver it to Abel from someone else.”
“From Senator Nordley?” she asked. “Was he fronting cash to Abel until he had the money from the will?”
Patrick shook his head. “It’s all speculation. And we could be completely wrong. We’re still not certain Abel even has Carlo.”
She slid down lower in the seat. “I hope he does. At least then we know where he is. If he isn’t with Abel and Willa, then he’s vanished.” The thought made it difficult to breathe.
Patrick squeezed her hand. “We’ll find him. I promise.”
She nodded, too moved to speak. She believed he meant his words, but she also knew he couldn’t guarantee that Carlo was safe. She wouldn’t rest easy again until her son was safe in her arms, and far away from the people who wanted to hurt him or use him.
After two hours of driving, a highway sign informed them they had reached the outskirts of Crested Butte. Patrick turned off the highway at a complex of warehouses and industrial-supply businesses. “I’m headed to the airport,” he said, before Stacy could ask. “We need to get rid of this car.”
“Because Abel’s men might recognize it?”
He glanced at her. “That, and because the feds know it.”
She sat back in her seat. Right. If Sullivan and his bunch recognized that Stacy and Patrick were getting too close to their precious investigation, they’d do everything they could to stop them.
Patrick parked the car at Crested Butte’s tiny airport, which was housed in a single terminal with two gates. He carried their suitcases inside and led the way to the rental car counter, where he rented a yellow Jeep Cherokee with a ski rack. “The snow is great right now,” the clerk said as she handed over the keys. “Have a great vacation.”
“Thanks.” His eyes met Stacy’s and she looked away. She only wished they were a happy couple on a relaxing vacation, instead of two people thrown together in a desperate search for her missing son.
From the airport they drove into the heart of Crested Butte, which proved to be a picturesque hamlet of Victorian-era wood-front buildings painted bright colors, clustered along a few streets against a backdrop of snow-covered mountains. Patrick found the courthouse, parked in front of it and went inside to the clerk’s office. “We’re doing some research and would like to look through the tax records,” he told the middle-aged redhead behind the counter.
“You can use this computer.” The clerk led them to a small workstation and pulled up the county records program. “You can search by the name of the owner or by address,” she said. She started to type in an example, but the phone rang. “I’d better get that,” she said. “If you have any questions, just ask.”
Stacy sat in the chair in front of the terminal while Patrick pulled a second chair alongside her. “I guess I’ll start with the obvious,” she said. She typed the word Giardino in the space for last name and hit Enter.
“No records returned,” Patrick said.
In quick succession she tried Abel, Willa, Sam and even Carlo. But nothing came up that looked remotely like the ranch Abel supposedly owned. “Try Nordley,” Patrick suggested.
She tried the name. “Nothing.”
Patrick sat back. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Even in a county this small, there must be thousands of properties. We can’t research them all.”
“You’re right.” She clicked back to the home page, then pushed out her chair. “I have an idea. Just give me a minute.”
With her most friendly smile in place, she approached the clerk. “Maybe you can help me,” she said. “I’m doing a college thesis on historic ranches of Gunnison County. Do you know who might have a listing of all the ranches in the area?”
The lines on the clerk’s forehead deepened. “The historical society might be able to help you,” she said.
“So you don’t maintain any kind of listing of ranches or anything like that in this office?”
“We have a map the cattleman’s society put together a couple years back, but it won’t tell you if the places on it are historic or not.”
“Could I see the map? It would be a great start.”
“I think I have a copy around here somewhere.” She retreated to a back room and returned a few minutes later with a yellowing scroll. “Here you go. Just return it to me when you’re done.”
Resisting the urge to unfurl the scroll and examine it right there at the counter, Stacy thanked the woman and carried her prize back to the workstation. “This map supposedly shows the ranches in the county,” she said.
Patrick took hold of one end and helped her spread out the documents, which proved to be an artistic rendering of the county, complete with mountain ranges, miniature skiers and carefully sketched-in cattle and forests. Stacy scanned the names of the ranches: Red Hawk, Powderhorn Creek, Pogna Ranch. She stopped when she came to a name affixed to a parcel not far from town. “Willing and Able,” she read. “That has to be it. It’s a play on their names—Willa and Abel.”
Patrick pulled out a notebook and wrote down the general location of the ranch. Stacy typed the road number into the computer and came up with a listing of properties in the vicinity. Third from the top was the name A.G. Holdings. “Abel Giardino,” she said.
Patrick nodded and replaced the notebook in his coat. “Let’s drive out there and take a look.”
Stacy returned the map to the clerk. “Did you find what you were looking for?” the woman asked.
“I think so. Thank you very much.” She couldn’t hold back her smile. Maybe in just a little while she’d be able to see her son.
“Hurry,” she said to Patrick, and rushed past him toward the Jeep.
He followed at a slower pace. Once they were buckled in, he turned to her before he started the car. “Right now we’re just going to drive by to make sure we have the right location—and to see if we spot any of the federal surveillance. I doubt we will—these guys are very good. But we won’t be stopping and lingering. And we won’t be driving up to the front door and demanding to see Carlo.”
“Of course not.” Though part of her had envisioned just such a scenario.
“I know it’s hard for you, being this close and having to wait,” he said. “But if we’re going to retrieve Carlo safely, we have to have a plan. I’m hoping this drive will suggest a way to approach the ranch house without being seen by either the feds or Abel’s guards. This is just a reconnaissance mission.”
She nodded. “All right.” She reached out and pressed down the door lock. She could do this—but if she actually saw Carlo, all bets were off.
Patrick consulted the map of the area the rental car company had given him, then drove out of town and turned onto a plowed gravel road that cut between expanses of snow-covered fields crisscrossed with sagging barbed-wire fencing. They passed herds of cattle eating hay that ranchers had spread for them that morning, the feed a dark green line against the pristine whiteness of the snow that rose above the animals’ hocks.
Other pastures were vacant, the snow as smooth as buttercream frosting on a wedding cake, unmarred by even the tracks of deer. Stacy thought again of the remoteness and loneliness of this country. “I could never live here,” she said. “So far from everything.”
“Some people like it, I guess,” he said. “No neighbors to see what you’re up to.”
No neighbors to notice a little boy who didn’t belong there. “Our neighbors in New York probably saw plenty,” she said. “But they knew to keep their mouths shut.”
“Good point.” Patrick shifted into a lower gear to climb a steep hill. “The Willing and Able should be up ahead, just around this curve.”
Stacy looked, but saw nothing but the same empty fields and barbed wire. They drove for another five minutes before a driveway appeared, a simple W&A on the black iron gate, which was closed, though the packed snow showed signs of recent travel up the drive. Stacy craned her neck, but could see nothing past the line of trees that marked a bend in the driveway. She tried to suppress her disappointment. “I thought we’d at least see a house or something.” A house with a little boy’s face pressed to the window, watching for his mother.
“These ranch houses are set way off the road,” Patrick said. “I figured the best we could do would be to get a sense of the layout and determine the most likely locations for federal agents.”
“And what did you decide?” she asked.
“I think the feds probably have someone watching the gate,” he said. “There’s another drive across the road. My guess someone is set up in the trees.”
“Do you think they recognized us?” Her stomach lurched.
“I ducked my head and yours was turned away. They might run a check on the Jeep’s plate and they’ll find out it’s a rental, but I used a fake ID.”
A surprised laugh escaped her lips. “You have a fake ID?”
The tips of his ears flushed red. “It comes in handy sometimes.”
“And here I thought you were a strictly-by-the-book guy.”
“I do what I have to to protect my charges.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for protecting me. And thank you for staying with me after Sullivan found out about us. I know you didn’t have to do that.”
“I won’t leave you until I know you’re safe.”
But he would leave her then. The knowledge started an ache deep in her chest. When had this man, whom she had hated, even feared when they first met, become such an important part of her life? The shift in her attitude had happened long before they’d slept together; something in her had recognized Marshal Patrick Thompson as someone she could depend on. Someone she could trust with her deepest secrets.
With her heart.
She pushed the idea away. She had to think about Carlo now, to focus on him. Everything else, including worries about the future, was secondary to freeing Carlo and keeping him safe. “How are we going to get to the ranch house and find Carlo?” she asked.
“We’ll have to find a back way in.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I have some ideas. But first, let’s get out of here.”
He turned onto another gravel road marked with a green Forest Service sign. After crawling along for what seemed to Stacy like an hour, they emerged onto the highway south of town. “We need to rent a hotel room,” Patrick said. “We can talk there without being overheard and make plans.”
“All right.” Renting a room meant more delays, but so would arguing with him. And when they did find Carlo, it would be good to have a safe, warm room to bring him back to.
They found a vacancy at a small motel in town but didn’t bother to bring their luggage inside. They did bring the map, which Patrick spread out on the table by the window. “This is the road we came in on,” he showed her, tracing the route with his finger.
“There’s the ranch.” She pointed to the curve near the ranch gate.
“Right. Now, let’s see....” He punched some buttons on his phone, then turned the screen so she could see.
She studied the photo of one large roof and several smaller ones grouped among some trees. “What am I looking at?” she asked.
“That’s the Google Earth shot of the Willing and Able ranch house.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Forget government satellites. Anyone can look at this stuff online.”
“I wonder if Abel knows that.”
“Even if he does, there’s nothing he can do to prevent it.” He laid the phone alongside the map and zoomed out. “This picture was taken in the summer. You can see this back drive that snakes behind the house and out this other direction.” He pointed to a faint, broken line on the map. “That’s this road here.”
“It’s not really a road,” she said. “More of a trail.”
“But it’s a way in.”
“Except it’s probably not plowed in the winter.”
“If it is, the feds will have it staked out. But if it isn’t, they probably won’t bother watching it too closely.”
“But that doesn’t help us. Even with four-wheel drive we won’t get down a road that hasn’t been plowed. You saw how deep the snow was.”
“We can’t drive down it. But we can walk. Or rather, snowshoe.”
“Uncle Abel’s men will spot us a mile off. It’s not as if we can run in snowshoes.”
“We’ll wait until after dark. They won’t see us. And we won’t have to run.”
“Carlo could never walk far through snow, and he’s almost too big for me to carry.”
“I could carry him.”
She studied the image of the ranch house roof. Was Carlo really there? “I don’t know. Can we really do this?”
“We can. I think it’s the best way to get close and remain undetected. Once we determine where he is in the house, we’ll sneak in and out with as little fuss as possible.”
She regarded him more closely. “You talk as if you’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“I was with Special Forces in the service.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Before long you’re going to know all my secrets,” he said. He didn’t exactly smile, but the look he gave her sent a jolt of heat straight to her belly.
“How can I say no when you put it like that?” She took a deep breath. “What next?”
“We need better winter clothing, snowshoes and a few other supplies. Time to go shopping.”
Good idea. Shopping was one thing she was good at, and searching through stores for the supplies they needed would eat up time and provide a welcome distraction from her worries about Carlo and the chances of this crazy plan succeeding.
At a backcountry outfitter around the corner from their hotel they purchased long underwear, snow pants and jackets, hats, mittens and snowshoes. “These have a narrower profile that make walking and even running easier than ever,” the clerk, a young man with a goatee and two earrings, pointed out as he helped Stacy strap on the lightweight aluminum shoes. “And you’ll want poles to help with your balance.” He shortened a pair of aluminum poles and handed them to her.
She stood in the middle of the store, poles planted on either side of her, and looked over at Patrick. He was busy stuffing their purchases into a large backpack. “I think I can get the hang of this,” she said.
“Trust me,” the clerk said. “If you can walk, you can snowshoe.”
From the outfitters, they walked down the sidewalk between walls of snow, past shops that sold everything from T-shirts to gourmet cookware. “Are we looking for anything in particular?” she asked.
“Right now we’re just killing time,” he said. “If you see anyplace you want to go into, say the word.”
She stopped in front of a window that displayed a variety of toys from an old-fashioned sled to video games. “Let’s go in here,” she said.
The store was filled with items that would have delighted Carlo, but she settled on a ten-inch-high bear with thick brown fur and a blue bow around its neck. “I think he would like this,” she said. When they took him back to the hotel later tonight—as she prayed they would—it would be good to give him this bear to comfort and distract him.
“I’m sure he would,” Patrick said, and took out his wallet to pay for the purchase.
They ate pizza at a restaurant at one end of the street. “Do you think Sullivan was right, that Carlo is safe?” she asked as she nibbled a slice of pepperoni.
“I think he didn’t want you to know at first that they’d found the boy, but I think he is safe. Abel needs Carlo to have access to the money.”
“How does Senator Nordley play into this?”
“Rumor has it he wants to run for president. That takes a lot of money. Maybe Abel promised Nordley a share of the cash if he’d help Abel get his hands on it.”
“He can have every bit of it, for all I care. I just want my son safely back with me. I don’t even want the Giardinos’ ill-gotten gains.”
“Seems to me you’ve earned your share of their wealth,” he said. “It could make you and Carlo a lot more comfortable.”
“I can look after Carlo myself,” she said. “I’d rather be poor and free of the taint of that family. I’m even thinking of changing my name when this is all over.”
“Back to your maiden name?” he asked.
She made a face. “It’s my father’s name, and he never did me any favors. I think I’ll have to come up with something new. A fresh start.”
“If you go into WITSEC, you can choose whatever name you like.” At her frown, he held up his hand. “I know you don’t want to go into the program, but I just thought I’d point out that it automatically comes with a name change, and a fresh start.”
“I’ll think about it.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, letting the government help her out. And it might mean she’d get to continue to see Patrick, at least some of the time.
After lunch they slowly made their way up the other side of the street to the hotel. Back in their room, she flopped down on the bed. “This waiting is killing me. When can we leave?”
“It gets dark pretty early. We can start that way about four-thirty.”
She checked the bedside clock. “Three hours.”
“Try to get some sleep. It could be a long night.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to organize our gear.” Already he’d spread half their purchases on the table and was unwrapping items—a flashlight, energy bars, water bottles, first aid kit, emergency blanket and more things she couldn’t remember.
“You can lie down on the bed and I promise I won’t attack you,” she said.
He looked startled. “What?”
“I know you feel bad about us sleeping together,” she said. “Like you shirked your duty or betrayed an oath or something.”
“You’re wrong.” He went back to wrestling with the wrapping on a small pair of binoculars. “I ought to feel bad about my unprofessional behavior, but I can’t regret making love to you.”
“Then why are you avoiding even touching me?”
He set aside the binoculars and looked at her. “Because if I touch you—if I come over there and lie down beside you—I won’t be content with just a nap.”
“Oh.” His words—and the heated look in his eyes when he said them—sent a hot shiver down to her toes.
“You must be exhausted,” he said. “You’re worried about your son and nervous about tonight. Sex is probably the last thing on your mind. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
She was all those things he’d said, but none of that mattered now. “I don’t need a gentleman right now,” she said. “I just need you.”
His silence was like a vise around her chest, preventing her from breathing. Maybe she’d been wrong to be so frank, so open with him. Maybe he didn’t really want her that way. He was trying to find a kind way to reject her.
He stood, his gaze still locked to hers, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I never was good at being a gentleman,” he said.