Chapter 11
Moe walked with Breely along the touristy streets of West Yellowstone, ducking into souvenir shops, stopping to get ice cream at a specialty ice cream shop and pretending they were just another couple on vacation.
But they weren’t.
Moe kept a constant vigilance from all angles around them. He was relieved when she decided they should head back to the lodge.
The lodge didn’t boast tight security, but there were a number of his counterparts still staying there. If he needed help, all he had to do was shout, and someone would come running.
Though it wasn’t very late, Breely was tired from all the drama and stress of the past thirty hours.
They wandered through the kitchen to fill a couple of glasses with water and carried them to their rooms.
Moe entered through her door, quickly inspected the space and declared it clear. When he started to go into his room, she snagged his arm. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“To my room,” he said.
She stared up into his eyes. “Do you want to go to your room?”
He shook his head. “But I don’t presume to know what you want.”
“I want you.” She smiled and tugged the hem of his T-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. “Please. Stay with me.”
And he did.
That night.
All the next day.
And the next.
A week went by, and nothing happened. No attacks, no death threats. Nothing.
Moe found it difficult to maintain his vigilance.
But he did. Since no one had tried to nab Breely, they ventured out, visiting local parks.
Moe bought Breely a fishing pole and took her fishing in the nearby river.
They cleaned the fish they caught and brought them back to Cookie to prepare in his kitchen.
When she needed hard physical exercise, Breely mucked the stalls in the barn and lunged the few horses that lived on the property.
On some evenings, Breely worked waiting tables in the bar. She liked being busy.
Moe would help by bussing tables, just to be close to her.
Though they enjoyed their outings, Breely seemed bored. She’d worked on a ranch her entire life. Hard work was what she did. The tavern had kept her moving, never lacking something to do.
Once or twice during the day, she’d log onto her laptop and conduct a meeting with the people working different areas of the Brantt Philanthropic Foundation. She dressed nicely and applied the makeup she’d purchased at a store in town before entering a Zoom meeting.
Moe stayed close by, admiring how beautiful she was. At the rate they were going and the amount of time they spent in each other’s company, he was doomed. When he’d divorced, he’d vowed to never marry again.
Yet, here he was daydreaming about what it would be like when they were older, grayer and sitting on a front porch swing with their grandchildren playing at their feet.
He spent every night with her in his arms. He woke with Breely’s naked body spooned into his.
He could get used to that. Hell, he already was. Moe never wanted it to end.
They were drinking lemonade on the back porch of the lodge, letting their food digest after one of Cookie’s amazing meals.
Stone came out on the porch. “Got a text from Hank. He wants us to tap into a video call for an update.”
Moe rose from the swing and pulled Breely to her feet.
They’d had updates several times that week.
They’d go to the war room and bring up the video conference software.
Hank or Swede, or both, would appear and talk through what they’d learned.
So far, all they’d done was knock names of potential suspects off the list. None of the names had come up in criminal databases or online news articles.
Swede and Kyla had promised to dig deeper. Moe translated that to mean hacking into bank and phone records of some of the people who’d been released from employment on the Brantt ranch.
Stone was first through the door into the war room. Kyla was on the computer, paging through data, determined to find something.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“More than ready,” Breely murmured. “Yes.”
The big screen at the end of the conference table blinked. Hank and Swede appeared side by side.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“All is quiet here at the lodge,” Moe said.
“Too quiet,” Breely agreed. “What do you have?”
“Got information back on Cody West,” Swede said.
Breely frowned and leaned forward. “What kind of information?”
“First of all, he’s married with three kids, all under five years old,” Hank said.
“Good for him,” Breely said. “What does that have to do with me?”
“He’s defaulted on his mortgage loan,” Swede frowned. “The bank is foreclosing on his home in Bozeman.”
“Again,” Breely said, “what does that have to do with me?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Swede said.
Hank picked up the narrative. “He has a strong motivation to do whatever it takes to save his family’s home. No man wants his wife and three little kids kicked out into the street.”
“That’s not enough information to go after the man,” Breely argued.
“No, but a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit to his checking account is a red flag. Enough to make the police question his whereabouts the night you were attacked,” Hank said.
Breely pinched the bridge of her nose. “I remember Cody being a nice, respectful young man. Kidnapping a woman doesn’t sound like something the Cody I knew would do. His only fault back then was getting involved with me. It got him kicked off the ranch.”
Breely leaned forward. “Please, don’t get the police involved…
yet. If he’s not the one, you’re only making his crappy situation worse.
Can’t you send one of your guys out to question him?
Hell, if you get me his phone number, I’ll call him.
He might not want to talk to me, but it’s worth a try.
My gut is telling me you’re barking up the wrong tree.
Do you have anything on any of the others on the list? ”
“What about the Dillon guy who stole the money?” Moe asked.
“We’ve been looking into him, as well,” Swede said.
“His latest address is a mobile home park in Kalispell. We sent one of our guys up there to learn more. He got there yesterday and asked around. One of Dillon’s friends said he recently purchased a bright yellow Corvette with a souped-up muffler.
As the friend said, It’s bitchin’. The same friend said Dillon had been hanging out with a guy from a local biker gang.
They’ve been seen riding around together in the yellow Corvette—until a week ago. ”
Moe’s gut twisted. This Dillon guy sounded like a winner.
Swede continued, “Dillon doesn’t have much of a bank account.
We don’t see any sizable deposits, nor do we see any big withdrawals for a down payment on a car.
We pulled his credit report. He doesn’t have any current liens on a car or house.
He declared bankruptcy six years ago. If he’s driving a new Corvette, either he paid cash or he stole it. ”
Breely looked up at Hank and Swede. “Did your guy in Kalispell find Dillon?”
They shook their heads.
“No one has seen his yellow Corvette for over a week,” Hank said.
“No one saw it in Bozeman the night of your attack. The detective said the white van was found at an abandoned house on the outskirts of Bozeman. Someone could’ve hidden a flashy car there, used the van for the kidnapping then come back to his getaway car. ”
“It’s been a week since the attack,” Breely said. “If he was going to make a second attempt, wouldn’t he have done it by now?”
Kyla waved a hand. “When could he?”
“Exactly. You’ve been surrounded by us, and you have a full-time bodyguard,” Stone said. “That has to be putting a cramp in his plan.”
“Has your father received any more death threats?” Kyla asked.
Breely shook her head. “No.”
“I’ve been following the election campaign in Venezuela. Salazar is claiming DeVita is corrupt and that he’s funneling drug money through the orphanages and community clinics the Brantt Philanthropy Foundation built to serve the people.”
Breely nodded. “I’d heard. My people are launching a campaign to correct Salazar’s claims. They hope to reverse the damage Salazar’s slur campaign has caused.”
Kyla crossed her arms over her chest and gave Breely a devilish smile. “Despite spewing misinformation, DeVita is still ahead in the polls. He’s projected to win.”
“Which means Salazar has to be getting desperate,” Hank said from the screen.
“Does Dillon and the kidnapping attempt have a connection to the Venezuelan election?” Breely shook her head. “I don’t understand the point. I can see Dillon kidnapping me to extort money from my father. What does it have to do with anything else?”
“We checked with the detective in charge of the kidnapping investigation in Bozeman,” Swede’s lips twisted. “They don’t have more information than they did a week ago.”
“We need to find Dillon,” Breely said.
“Before he finds Breely,” Moe said.
“If he and his motorcycle gang sidekick are the kidnappers, they might have the answers we’re looking for.” Hank lifted his chin. “Be on the lookout for Dillon and or a bright yellow Corvette.”
“We could use a current photo of him,” Moe said.
“You know, I might have one.” Breely pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through hundreds of photos. She slowed and eased through until she found what she was looking for. “Here.” She handed her phone to Kyla.
Moe leaned over Kyla’s shoulder.
Four men stood next to a corral fence, staring at the person taking the picture. “The guy on the right end is Dillon. Brown hair, brown eyes and same height as my father.”
“Send the photo to us,” Hank said.
Kyla waved a hand. “Will do.”
“I’m going to tuck my kids in for their afternoon nap,” Hank said. “Out here.”
“Out here,” Stone echoed.
The big screen went dark.
Stone turned to the others in the room. “Kyla will text Dillon’s photo to our guys and Hank’s team in Eagle Rock. Be vigilant.”
“Headed back to the lodge?” Breely asked Stone.