the stolen money ever turned up?” she asked.
“The robberies were during the day, right? Banks have what they call ‘bait’ money. It’s traceable. So if any of it has surfaced…I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you,” he said, sounding as excited as she felt about the story.
She gave him her new cell phone number and they both promised to keep in touch.
After she hung up, she shot a glance at her front window as a car drove slowly by. Lubbock wasn’t just out of prison, he’d already broken parole.
Quickly she stepped to the window and closed the curtains, telling herself that the smartest thing she could do was to take everything she knew to the local sheriff, Carter Jackson, Cade Jackson’s brother.
But then the story would break prematurely. A story that belonged to her. And not the whole story. Not to mention that she might never find out who was sending her the information or what they wanted.
She checked to make sure her door was locked before she rewound the tape and listened to it again, her mind racing. She took one of the blank tapes Mark Sanders had given her and put it in the second cassette deck and made a copy of the original.
Wouldn’t anyone who wanted the story to come out have gone to the sheriff? Or the FBI? Or if not that, a major television station?
Whoever had given her the newspaper clipping and the tape wasn’t after a story—or justice. No, they wanted something else. Bradley had to be right. They wanted the money.
She took the tape out of the player and stared down at it. The big question was what was she going to do with this?
Chapter Three
The Jackson Bait Shop was on the edge of town. The sign was weathered, the building small. As Andi got out of her car the next morning, she wondered how Cade Jackson made a living in such a remote place selling bait.
Or was he living off the three million dollars Starr had stolen?
Andi had gone into the newspaper early, gathering everything she could find on Cade Jackson. There hadn’t been much. A local cowboy, he’d grown up on a ranch south of here near what was called Old Town Whitehorse.
Since then he’d won some horse-roping events and caught a few big fish that had made the newspaper.
His only claim to fame just might turn out to be marrying Starr Calhoun, she thought as she saw that the Closed sign was still up in the bait shop window. There were no store hours posted. Did anyone even fish this time of year?
She knocked at the door and waited on the small landing out front, hugging herself, trying to keep warm. She guessed he was already up since the Great Falls Tribune newspaper box next to the door was empty. It had snowed again last night, coating the entire town with a couple of inches. The snow glittered so bright it was blinding. But it was the breeze that cut through her, chilling her to the bone. She’d had no idea it would be this cold up here.
As a gust of wind whirled snow around her, she instinctively reached for the doorknob. To her surprise, it turned easily in her hand, the door falling open.
She was hit with a blast of warm air. She leaned into it, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her as she tried to shake off her earlier chill.
Apparently Cade Jackson sold more than bait. The room was divided into four long aisles by three high shelves filled with lures and jigs, rods and reels, paddles and oars, nets and an array of boat parts and sporting equipment.
Cade Jackson was nowhere in sight but she thought she heard water running somewhere in the back.
She moved through the shop toward the sound. It was warm in here and she was in no hurry to go back outside into the cold.
But she reminded herself: for all she knew this man had known about the robbery, might even have gotten rid of his wife to keep all the money for himself.
But if he had the three million dollars or even some of it, he didn’t appear to be enjoying it much, she thought as she saw his living quarters.
The shop opened onto a small apartment. The lack of stuff made her wonder if anyone could live this simply. Certainly not Starr Calhoun.
For a moment Andi considered what she was doing. This felt all wrong. Not to mention she couldn’t guess what Cade Jackson’s reaction was going to be to not only her being here, but also what she had to show him.
What if she was wrong?
She wasn’t and she knew it.
But she still felt apprehensive. She had no idea what this man was like. The fact that Starr Calhoun had married him was a clue, though. Andi was wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here alone.
She was no fool, though. In her large shoulder bag, along with a copy of the cassette she’d made and the boom box, she had a can of pepper spray and her cell phone.
“Mr. Jackson?” she called from the doorway into the apartment. No answer.
She called his name again. The sound of running water stopped. “Hello!” she called out. “Hello?” She stopped to look at a bulletin board filled with photographs of fish being held by men, women and children. Some of the fish were as huge as the grins on the many faces.
When she looked up, she was startled to find the apartment doorway filled with a dark silhouette. She got the impression Cade Jackson had been standing in the doorway for some time studying her.
To make things even more awkward, his dark hair was wet and droplets of water beaded on his lashes as well as on the dark curls of his chest hair that formed a V to disappear into the towel wrapped around his slim hips.
“I’m sorry, the door was open,” she said quickly.
He smiled either at the fact that he had her flustered or because of her accent. “The shop isn’t open yet, but then again you don’t look like a fisherman,” he said eyeing her. “Nor do you sound local.”
“No, I’m neither,” she said, getting her composure back. He was even more handsome up close and personal.
He cocked a dark brow at her.
“I’m Miranda Blake. I left my business card and a note on your door last night? But I can wait while you dress.”
He’d looked friendly before. He didn’t now. “M. W. Blake, the new reporter over at the Examiner?” He was shaking his head and moving toward her, clearly planning to show her out. “I don’t talk to reporters.”
“You’ll want to talk to me,” she said standing her ground as she put her hand on her shoulder bag, easing the top open so she could get to her pepper spray.
He stopped in front of her and she caught a whiff of his soap. Yum. He stood a good head taller. She had to tilt her face up to look into his eyes. Eyes so dark they appeared black. Right now they were filled with impatience and irritation.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about that, Tex.”
“I
