Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As Portia led the sheriff through to the living area, she abruptly stopped, grabbed his arm, and pointed to the pair of men’s dirty shoes in front of the couch.
“Go back to the car,” he whispered, lowering his lips to her ear as he reached for his revolver.
But before she could take a step William strode into the room from the hall with his gun raised.
“Don’t do it, Sheriff, not unless you want the poor little rich girl to get a bullet in her head.”
“William! Why are you doing this?” Portia demanded, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “What have I ever done to you?”
“Shut the fuck up. Sheriff, put your gun on the floor…real easy…kick it over towards me, then lie face down on the floor with your arms above your head.”
“You’re makin’ a big mistake, son.”
“I’m not your son!” William snapped. “Now do it. Portia, where’s your phone?”
“In my pocket like always,” she replied as the sheriff followed William’s instructions.
“Perfect. Call your personal banker. You’re going to transfer a bunch of money, and don’t try anything or I’ll shoot the fuckin’ sheriff. Got it?”
“Yes, yes, no problem,” she said quickly.
“Once you have him on the phone I’ll give you the bank details. Just repeat them. Don’t add anything, no chit chat.”
“I understand.”
“Good, now make the call.”
Slowly lifting out her phone, she took a deep breath and called Devlin.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“Hello, James, it’s Portia Peyton here. I need you to transfer some funds from my personal account, the one ending in 2280.”
“William’s there,” Devlin declared.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Three million,” William exclaimed,
“James, transfer three million, and the bank it’s going to is…?” she continued, staring at William.
As William recited the account information she repeated it, then paused.
“Do everything he tells you,” Devlin said quietly, “and Portia, don’t worry. The guy’s toast.”
“It’s being done,” Portia declared, hastily ending the call.
“See how easy that was? You would’ve saved us a whole shitload of trouble if you’d just allowed your broker to sell those fucking shares. Now lie on the floor next to the sheriff and don’t move while I call my bank and make sure the money went through.”
“But it won’t land until tomorrow.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s after three o’clock. It won’t transfer until tonight and won’t show until the morning,” she lied, hoping she sounded convincing. “That’s how banks work. Surely you must know that.”
“Goddamit to hell!” he shouted, waving his gun in the air.
“I have a bunch of cash in the safe.”
“How much?”
“I guess around twenty-grand, and my jewelry.”
“Handcuff the sheriff.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Portia, don’t give me any of your shit or I swear to God I’ll shoot the motherfucker. Take the handcuffs off his belt and shackle his fucking wrists. Wait! No! His ankles.”
“William, you’re makin’ a real big mistake,” the sheriff said, turning his head and staring up at him.
“The only mistake is you showing up here. Portia, do as I say.”
* * *
As William had watched Portia cuff the sheriff’s ankles, he was satisfied the lawman would remain incapacitated while Portia emptied her safe. It was in what she referred to her as her office, though as far as he knew the only work she did was talking with her father and grandfather from time to time.
“Right, let’s go,” he barked as she straightened up.
“But, William, your name and photo will be all over the place. You can’t possibly get out of the country, it doesn’t matter how much money you have.”
“Hah, what the fuck do you know. Private jets are everywhere, and everyone has their price.”
“You’re not making any sense. You’ll need cash, and no bank will—”
“Shut up. I know exactly what I’m doing. Now, move!”
“Just do as he says, Portia,” the sheriff said, turning his head and looking up at her.
“Hear that?” William snapped. “The sheriff’s right. I’m already pissed off and you don’t want to make it worse!”
“Fine, but what have I ever done to you? Why are you so angry?” she asked as she started down the short hall.
“A rich bitch like you wouldn’t understand, but now it’s my turn to ask the questions. I laced that coffee. Why didn’t it affect you? You drank half of it.”
“I emptied out my water bottle and poured the coffee in that.”
“What the fuck? Why?”
“Because Devlin saw you spike it, that’s why, and he had it analyzed. Now the sheriff’s office has it. You’re toast, William, you may as well just—”
“Devlin saw me? How?”
“He was riding down the hill and watched you put the stuff in the mug. He called and warned me. You were outsmarted.”
“That sonofabitch. He’ll pay for screwing with me. And I’m not done with you either. One of these nights you’ll wake up and find me naked standing over your bed.”
“William, you’re dreaming,” she retorted as they walked into her office. “This is over, you can’t get away, you’ll never see that money, and you’ll end up in a prison cell.”
“Just open the fucking safe!”
* * *
While Portia was following William’s orders, Devlin had called his three neighbors, Brody King, Andy Baker and Cade McLean. They were all horse trainers and the best of friends. Now gathered together on the bridle path running behind their ranches at the base of Smoky Hill, they quickly made their plans.
* * *
On the living room floor, the sheriff had taken the handcuff keys from his vest pocket and unlocked the shackles around his ankles, but remained where he was with the cuffs still seemingly locked in place.