Standoff at Mustang Ridge Page 12

  “I hate to see him like this,” she mumbled.

  Yeah. Fatherly love could create a lot of guilt. Royce didn’t have that problem because Chet wasn’t loving. Well, not like Eldon, anyway. And it made Royce wonder. Eldon hadn’t begged and pleaded with Sophie to go through with the marriage to Travis, but maybe he thought that fatherly love/guilt was enough to push Sophie back in Travis’s direction.

  “Do you trust him?” Royce came right out and asked.

  Sophie opened her mouth as if she might jump to say yes, but she only shook her head. “I want to trust him. Stanton, too.” She paused. “But Stanton drugged us, and my father, well, he hasn’t been a saint, either.”

  Royce thought about that a moment. “You’re not just talking about his bad financial decisions, are you?”

  “No.” And she paused again. “I have papers that prove my father’s involvement in one of the illegal land deals with Travis.”

  “Papers,” Royce repeated. “The ones that Lott mentioned?”

  “Yes.” She said it so softly that he didn’t actually hear the response. Royce only saw it form on her mouth.

  “I want to see them,” he insisted.

  She shook her head. “If you do, you’ll have to arrest my father.”

  Hell. Definitely not good. Royce hated to put Sophie in this position. Hated to put himself there, too. But as a lawman, he had to demand to see those papers. However, before he could do just that, his phone buzzed, and when he saw the name Ellen Burkhart on the screen, he knew it was a call he needed to take because the attorney might have information that Sophie and he needed.

  Or at least info that Lott felt they needed, anyway.

  “Deputy McCall,” the woman said when he answered the call. Royce put her on Speaker so that Sophie could hear.

  “Ms. Burkhart, I got your card from Agent Keith Lott, and he seemed to think you could help me with an investigation.” That was a generous interpretation of why Lott had given Sophie the attorney’s card, but he wasn’t even sure what questions he should ask the woman.

  “Yes. Agent Lott said you might be calling.”

  Sophie’s eyebrow lifted, probably wondering why Lott would do that or open this proverbial door, but Royce didn’t have the answer to that, either.

  “I can’t break attorney-client privilege,” the woman went on, “so I’m not sure how I can help you.”

  Royce took a moment to figure out how to phrase what he was going to say. “I need info about Sophie Conway. What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not much,” she immediately answered. “The information I have probably isn’t connected to your investigation.”

  “Anything you can tell us will be helpful.” Royce hoped.

  The woman cleared her throat. “Well, I won’t give you the name of my client. You’ll have to hear that from him. But soon it’ll be part of court documents and Ms. Conway will find out anyway.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “Not the papers about the land deal,” she mouthed.

  Yeah, Sophie definitely wouldn’t want those in the court system since she’d said they could lead to her father’s arrest.

  “What will be part of court documents?” Royce came out and asked.

  “My client is challenging the terms of Diane Conway’s will.” She paused a heartbeat. “And that’s all I can tell you, Deputy McCall.”

  The attorney ended the call, and Royce and Sophie stood there, staring at each other. She didn’t exactly seem shocked by the news.

  Sophie shook her head. “I tried to challenge it, but I failed. I wanted to share the estate with my father and brother.”

  “So, you think Eldon or Stanton are challenging it again?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She wearily scrubbed her hand over her face. “Probably Stanton. That must have been what he meant when he said he was looking at other ways to get the money.”

  Yeah. But it did make Royce wonder why Stanton hadn’t just admitted that.

  He looked at Sophie and saw her blink back the tears. Royce immediately went to her and pulled her into

  his arms.

  “My brother’s desperate,” she whispered. “And if I’m dead, then he and my father will inherit. Stanton wouldn’t do that for himself, but he might be willing to do that for our father.”

  Royce couldn’t argue with that. Nor could he dismiss the fact that Eldon might have something up his sleeve, too. Maybe Eldon didn’t have outright plans to kill Sophie, but he could have used the kidnapping to fake her death or something. Of course, any of those bullets could have killed Sophie so it was possible the plan—if it existed—had failed.

  Sophie looked up at him, and the fatigue was all over her face. It didn’t take away from her good looks. Nothing could do that. But it was a reminder for Royce to put something else on his to-do list.

  “When the gunman’s lawyer arrives,” he said, kissing the small nick on her forehead, “I’ll question the guy so we can turn him over to the Rangers, and then I’ll get you out of here.”

  Sophie didn’t fight him on that, probably because she was as eager to leave as he was. Soon, though, he’d have to bring up the papers again. But not now. For now, Royce just held her close and wondered why the heck this should feel so natural.

  And right.

  Even though there were at least a dozen things wrong with this.

  “You must hate me,” she mumbled. “Your life is a mess, thanks to me.”

  Royce frowned and pulled back just enough to make eye contact. “I don’t hug people I hate.”

  “Well, you should hate me.” She tried to pull away from him, but Royce held on.

  “It’d be easier if I did,” he confessed. He groaned. Cursed. “Let’s just get past some of these obstacles, and then we can, well, talk.”

  “Talk?” She stared at him and slid her hand over his chest.

  He felt that hand slide not just on his chest. But lower. It didn’t help that her breath was meeting his, and that he could practically taste her. To cool himself down a little, he did slip his hands over her body, too.

  Over her stomach.

  It was meant to be a reminder of some very important details they had to learn and maybe even work out. But the only reminder Royce got was that he wanted to touch her, and this time he wanted to remember every last detail of it.

  And that would be a mistake.

  He repeated that to himself several times and forced himself away from her. Sophie backed up, too. She stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as if to make sure she didn’t intend to touch him, but the look on her face said the opposite.

  Royce was certain his face was saying the same.

  The staring match continued until he heard the bell over the front door jangle again. Good. Maybe it was the gunman’s lawyer or the Rangers. Either way, it would get this situation out of the waiting stage.

  “Royce?” Billy called out. “You better get out here right now.”

  That got Royce moving fast, and he automatically drew his gun and pushed Sophie behind him. He braced himself for another attack. For more gunmen.

  But it was Travis.

  The man was in the doorway, his left hand covered with blood and pressed against his head.

  “Someone just tried to kill me,” Travis said. And he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Call an ambulance,” Sophie heard Royce say to Billy.

  That sent her heart racing, and she hurried to Royce’s side so she could see what was going on.

  Oh, mercy.

  The last thing she’d expected was for Travis to be on the floor of the sheriff’s office, but there he was, and judging from the blood on his hand and clothes, he’d been injured.

  She and Royce went to Travis, and Sophie knelt down and put her fingers to his neck. His pulse was strong so she eased back his hand and spotted the gash on his forehead.

  “Someone ran me off the road,” Travis grumbled. His eyelids twitched
and finally opened.

  “The ambulance is on the way,” Royce told him. He grabbed a handful of tissues from one of the desks, stooped and pressed them to Travis’s head. “Who did this to you?”

  Sophie didn’t miss the skeptical edge in Royce’s voice. Yes, there was concern, too, but he probably had the same thoughts as Sophie—was this injury for real or some kind of act?

  The blood was real, that’s for sure, but when Royce wiped it away, she saw that the cut wasn’t very big at all, and there didn’t appear to be any other trauma. Still, she was glad there was an ambulance on the way.

  Royce stood, and with his gun still in his right hand, he went to the window and looked out. “How did you get here?” he asked Travis.

  “Walked. My car’s in a ditch on Pearson Road, about a quarter of a mile outside of town.”

  It was a long way to walk with a real head injury, which only increased her suspicions.

  “And you’re sure this wasn’t an accident and that someone purposely ran you off the road?” Royce pressed.

  “Yes,” Travis snapped. Cursing, he sat up and pushed Sophie’s hands away so he could hold the wad of tissues to his head. “It was a big-rig truck. It hit my car from behind and didn’t stop until it pushed me into the ditch.”

  Royce glanced down at him. “Then, there’ll be tire marks on the asphalt from where you tried to brake.” His skepticism went up a significant notch.

  With reason.

  Travis could be doing this to throw suspicion off himself. Of course, hurting himself was an extreme measure, but so were the things they’d suspected Travis of doing. He might be desperate to avoid an arrest.

  “I heard you have one of the gunmen locked up here,” Travis said. He wobbled, or else pretended to, and he eventually got to his feet.

  “Yeah,” Royce confirmed. “He says he’s willing to give up the name of the person who hired him. Does that make you nervous? Is that why you’re really here?”

  Travis’s eyes narrowed. “I’m really here because someone tried to kill me, and you’re a deputy sheriff. I want an investigation, and I want that SOB driver of the truck caught and thrown into jail.”

  Outside, she heard the wail of the ambulance siren, and it pulled to a stop in front of the building.

  “Once the doctor checks you out,” Royce said, “come back and fill out a report. I’ll get out to the crash site first chance I get.”

  “Do that,” Travis snarled.

  The door flew open, and two medics rushed in, but they weren’t alone. A tall sixtysomething man wearing a suit stepped in behind them.

  “Alfred Davis,” the man announced. “I’m here to see my client, Jimmy Haggard. I understand you have him in custody.”

  Good. That meant they might finally have some answers. Well, from the gunman, anyway. They might not know the truth about Travis until the doctors examine him. And even then they might not know if he’d managed to fake this.

  The two medics led Travis to the ambulance, but Travis kept his attention on Sophie. “I’m not the one who wants you dead,” he told her.

  He waited as if he expected her to say she believed him. She didn’t. And after several moments, Travis added more profanity and walked out with the medics.

  “Call me when you know his condition,” Royce said to one of the medics just as the phone on Billy’s desk rang. “And get me an update on Tommy Rester. He’s in surgery to remove a bullet that this guy’s client put in his shoulder.”

  “Busy day,” the lawyer mumbled, and he kept his eyes on Travis until the man was in the ambulance.

  Sophie followed the lawyer’s gaze. “You know Travis Bullock?” she asked.

  “No. Why should I?” Davis looked past her and at Royce. “I need to see my client,” the lawyer crisply reminded him in the same tone Royce had used earlier.

  Royce headed toward the holding cell, but Billy called out to him. “That was your brother on the line. Jake said he’s on his way here.”

  Royce groaned. Jake had too much on his mind right now to be dealing with this, but Sophie welcomed the help.

  “You can’t go into the interview room,” Royce said to her. He unlocked the cell and moved the handcuffed gunman into the interrogation room. “But there’s a two-way mirror, and you can watch from Jake’s office.”

  Once Royce had Haggard and his lawyer in the interrogation room, he stepped inside Jake’s office with her. He pulled out the chair and had her sit.

  “I’ll see about getting you something to eat. You look ready to fall flat on your face,” Royce remarked.

  She felt it, too, but Sophie kept that to herself. Besides, Royce had had just as tough a day as she had, and he still had an interview to conduct.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I swear.” And he brushed a kiss on her cheek. However, he didn’t leave. While he called the diner and asked for sandwiches to be delivered, Royce watched the lawyer and gunman as they whispered to each other.

  “Whispering’s not a good sign,” she said to Royce when he finished his call. “Davis is no doubt advising his client to stay quiet.”

  “They’re cooking up something,” Royce agreed. “You think Davis recognized Travis?”

  “Maybe. He was certainly giving Travis the once-over.” Perhaps because Travis had been the one to hire his client, but what they needed was proof of that.

  “I’ll tell Davis that the interview will start as soon as the Rangers arrive,” Royce said.

  He gave her another quick kiss, this one on the mouth, before he clicked on the intercom mounted on the wall and strolled out as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. There was nothing ordinary about his kisses.

  Nothing ordinary about the man, either.

  Sophie sat there, the feel of his kisses still going through her, and she groaned. She was in real trouble here, and it wasn’t just from the danger. She was falling for him. Hard.

  She watched as Royce went back into the interrogation room, but he’d hardly made it through the door before the lawyer stood. Uh-oh. Sophie figured the man was about to put a quick end to any interview.

  “We want a plea deal,” Davis said, surprising her. But Sophie figured without a deal, the gunman wouldn’t volunteer anything, putting them right back to square one.

  Royce’s hands went on his hips. “Your client took shots at several people, including me. I’m not exactly in a charitable mood.”

  “He wasn’t there to kill anyone,” Davis argued.

  “Coulda fooled me. My ranch hand, too. He’s the one who got shot.”

  “An accident, I assure you. My client was hired to find Sophie Conway and talk to her, that’s all.”

  Sophie jumped to her feet. The comment was so ludicrous that it was insulting. There’d been no attempt to talk, only the attack with a hail of bullets.

  “Talk?” Royce repeated. She heard the raw anger in his voice. Saw it even more in his body language.

  Haggard, who was seated at the table, calmly nodded as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I got written instructions to talk to the woman and give her a phone number. The man who hired me wanted to speak to her.”

  Royce walked forward, practically pushing the lawyer aside so he could get in the gunman’s face.

  “What number and who gave it to you?” Royce asked, slapping his fists onto the metal table and getting right in Haggard’s face.

  “You didn’t agree to the plea deal.”

  That didn’t help ease the tension in Royce’s expression. “I’ll tell the D.A. you cooperated and see what can be worked out. And that’s the best offer I can give you.”

  Haggard hesitated, then shrugged. “The whole deal was brokered through a third party. And before you ask, you can’t speak to him because you shot and killed him.”

  No, no, no! That was not what she wanted to hear.

  Sophie moved closer to the window, until she was so close to it that her breath fogged the glass. She wanted to get a good look at Ha
ggard’s face so she could see any signs that he might be lying. But the man was no doubt a good poker player, because he wasn’t revealing anything.

  “When you surrendered back at the ranch, you said you’d tell me the name of the person who hired you,” Royce reminded Haggard.

  Another shrug. “The man’s name is Lucky Monroe, and like I said, he’s dead.”

  Royce groaned, stepped back, but his hands stayed balled up into fists. “So, this Lucky Monroe hired you?”

  Haggard nodded, and his carefree expression turned smug. “I guess you’re sorry now that you killed him, huh?”

  Royce’s gaze sliced back to the man. “No. The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t take you out, too.”

  “Deputy,” the lawyer warned.

  “Your client is scum,” Royce informed him right back without taking his glare off Haggard. “Where’s this so-called phone number you were supposed to give Ms. Conway?”

  Haggard lifted his hands, the cuffs clanging against the table, and he spread his fingers to reveal the writing on his left index finger.

  Royce took out his phone and pressed in the numbers. Sophie waited, her lungs aching because she was holding her breath. She prayed it wasn’t her brother or father who would answer that call.

  The seconds crawled by, and she finally heard Royce curse. He jabbed a button on the phone and shoved it back in his pocket. “I got a recording. The number is no longer in service.”

  Both relief and disappointment flooded through her. This would have been so much easier if Travis had been on the other end of that line. Of course, it didn’t make any of their suspects innocent. It only meant the person after them had covered his tracks.

  “Since Lucky Monroe couldn’t have disconnected that number,” Royce said, “any idea who did?”

  Haggard shrugged again but didn’t say a word.

  Sophie tore her attention from the man when she heard the front door open, and she went to the doorway to make sure it wasn’t another visitor they didn’t want.