style="font-size:15px;"> “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want two of you at the hospital, keeping an eye on Jesse Longbridge. He’s a threat to the kidnappers and they might come after him.”
“We’ll keep him safe, sir.”
Burke recognized the crisp attitude. “Are you former military, Wentworth?”
“Marine Corps. Two tours of duty in Iraq as a medic.”
There was no need for further conversation. Burke had complete confidence in Wentworth’s ability to keep the witness safe. The first lesson for a Marine was never leave a man behind. “Carry on, Wentworth.”
“And thank you,” Carolyn added before he hung up.
He figured that the veneer of politeness she insisted upon was a way to maintain control. It was a small price to pay for her cooperation. “Carolyn, would you please tell us the events leading up to the kidnapping.”
She gave a brief nod. “It was dusk. Nicole went for a ride. She wanted to be alone, but the bodyguard, Jesse, left a few minutes later. I heard shots and went after them.”
“How long between when they left and when you heard gunshots?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“Did you pursue on foot?”
“On horse. Bareback. I happened to be near the corral.” She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed for riding, and I ruined a perfectly good skirt. Tore the slit all the way up the side.”
His mind formed an image of her long legs pressed against the flanks of her horse as she raced across the field. It must have been something to see. “Then what happened?”
“I saw Jesse coming out of the trees. Even though he was badly wounded, he managed to tell me that he saw two men grab Nicole. She struggled, but they knocked her unconscious. They said that my brother would pay a lot to get his wife back.”
Apparently, this wasn’t a planned abduction. There was no way the kidnappers could have known Nicole would be out riding at that particular moment. Not unless she was part of their plan. If that were so, she wouldn’t have struggled, wouldn’t have needed to be rendered unconscious. More likely, this was a crime of opportunity. Nicole happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bad news. Burke preferred to deal with professional criminals. Amateurs were unpredictable. “What happened next?”
“The men from the ranch rode up. Wentworth took care of Jesse. And he was nothing short of amazing. He got Jesse loaded into the bed of a truck and took him to the hospital before the ambulance arrived.”
Jesse Longbridge had been lucky to have the battle-trained expertise of a Marine medic. Wentworth’s fast action and triage skills had probably saved his life.
“After that,” Carolyn said, “I had to deal with my brother, Dylan. He wanted to track down the kidnappers and kill them. But I insisted that all the men leave their guns behind. The sheriff is with them now. They’re still looking, talking to people at nearby ranches.”
Burke needed to put an end to this chase as soon as possible. He strode from the room.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To get us some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Carolyn paced back and forth on the veranda, waiting anxiously for her brother to return. After half a dozen calls on her cell phone, she’d finally convinced him to allow the FBI to handle the kidnapping. Even if Burke was a pain in the rear, he was an expert.
The equipment he’d finally deigned to show her was impressive: GPS surveillance, heat-sensing infrared imaging, audio scanners, computer linkups to monitor e-mail activity. These high-tech tools made her brother’s posse on horseback seem positively archaic.
She knew Dylan would be impressed by the technology. The problem was Burke. If he tried to order her brother around, there’d be hell to pay.
Her first impression of Burke as a brusque, authoritative jerk had changed. He’d shown patience when he’d explained how to handle the ransom call. He’d told her not to confront but to stand firm. And to keep the caller talking. There were two reasons for that strategy. First, so they could get a clear trace. Second, the more the kidnapper talked, the more information they could gather. Little sounds in the background were clues to the kidnapper’s whereabouts.
Burke and his men had practiced with her so she’d know what to say. They’d told her to use her feminine wiles to stall—a useless bit of advice. If she’d ever had wiles, they were buried under years of dealing with ranch hands and businessmen who didn’t respect a woman who cried or pouted or giggled.
According to the FBI experts, her number one goal when talking to the kidnappers was to get proof of life.
She shuddered when she thought of the alternative. Nicole could already be dead. Her fingers tightened on the porch banister, anchoring her to something solid and tangible.
Burke came onto the porch and stood beside her. The sheer size of the man was impressive. He stood well over six feet tall with long legs and wide shoulders. She couldn’t really guess at his age, but assumed that a senior FBI agent would be in his late thirties. A little older than she was.
“Are you chilly?” he asked.
“Not a bit.” She stuck her hands into the fur-lined pockets of the hip-length shearling jacket that protected her from the December cold.
“It’s beautiful out here,” he said. “Peaceful.”
“When I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get off the ranch. After I left, I kept wanting to come back.”
“But you live in Denver now. Tell me about your job.” He paused for a moment. “Please.”
“You’ve asked so nicely, I can’t refuse.”
She glanced up, catching a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. Though he was willing to play along with her insistence for respect, he made it clear that the decision was his choice. He was still in charge.
His attitude was familiar. All her life she’d been dealing with taciturn, stubborn men. Cowboys weren’t known for wearing their hearts on their sleeves unless you put a guitar in their hands. A mournful tune could bring sentimental tears to the eyes of the most calloused ranch hand.
She strolled to the end of the veranda, climbed onto the porch swing and tucked her legs under her.
“My job,” she said. “I’m the CEO at Carlisle Certified Organic Beef. I handle oversight of the product, sales and distribution for this ranch and more than sixty others through-out the west. Anybody who contracts with us agrees to follow sustainable ranching procedures that my father pioneered in the 1980s. All Carlisle Certified cattle are grass fed. We don’t use antibiotics or growth hormones.”
“With the craze for organic food, you must be doing well.”
“The business keeps me hopping, and we’re also doing something
