Chapter Sixteen #2
But the next morning, as he had watched her sitting there in his bed, her hair mussed and the sheet pulled up around her, he had known he was lost. What he felt for Stacey went beyond the casual desire that had stirred in him the first night they danced together at the Trail’s End.
This emotion went deeper and burned hotter.
He had gone and fallen in love with her. And he had no idea if she felt anything close to the same. But he couldn’t sit around fretting over that big question. Right now, he had a job to do, to help her.
Finding Agent Anthony proved more difficult than Connor had anticipated. By the time he arrived back at SkyCrest, the lifts were motionless, and everyone had gone home. Darkness was setting in.
Connor called the sheriff’s office. “I have some information related to the vandalism at the ski resort,” he said.
“The FBI is handling that investigation,” the woman on the other end of the line said. “You’ll need to contact them.”
“Do you have a number I can call?” he asked.
“Try their Denver office. I’m sure they can pass on the message to the right people.”
He didn’t have time to wait for someone from Denver. “Can I please talk to the sheriff?”
“Sheriff Howard is off duty. I can leave a message for him when he returns tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow morning would be too late. “Can I speak with a deputy?”
“Is this an emergency, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll put you through to dispatch.”
A moment of silence, then, “Nine-one-one dispatcher. What is your emergency?” The voice on the other end of the line had the flat, mechanical quality of a machine.
“A local rancher is holding an FBI agent hostage and is going to try to blow up the ski resort.”
Silence. “Could you repeat that please, sir?” Still no change to the voice. Was he even speaking to a real person?
“A local rancher, Shane Greer, is holding FBI Special Agent Stacy Macrae and her father, George Macrae, hostage in his chicken house. He’s got a couple dozen people camped out on his ranch, and they’re planning to blow up SkyCrest resort.”
“Sir, have you been drinking?” That definitely sounded more human.
“What? No, I haven’t been drinking.”
“Have you taken any drugs? Unfamiliar medications? Have you eaten mushrooms?”
“No. I’m perfectly sober and in my right mind.”
“You say people are being held captive in a chicken house?”
“Yes. Federal Special Agent Stacy Macrae. Ask the sheriff. He’ll know who I’m talking about.”
“If you leave me your number and location, sir, I’ll have someone assist you.”
He hung up the phone. They didn’t believe him. And he was wasting time trying to convince people the danger was real.
He tried Doug again, but once more got his voicemail. He tried the number the sheriff’s department had given him for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and got a message to call back during regular business hours.
Desperate, he returned to his truck and drove to Stacy’s condo, where he cruised the parking lot in search of rental cars. Unfortunately, fully three quarters of the vehicles were rented by vacationers.
Then he spotted a black SUV, identical to the one Stacy had been driving. He noted the number of the parking spot, then parked in a No Parking zone and headed for the corresponding apartment.
Agent Anthony refused to open the door when Connor pounded on it, but Connor recognized his voice. “Mr. Donaldson, what are you doing here?” Anthony asked.
“Stacy Macrae asked me to get in touch with you,” he said. “It’s an emergency.”.
“If Agent Macrae needs to speak with me, she should call me herself.”
“She can’t. She and her dad are being held hostage on a local ranch.” Connor decided to leave out the part about the chicken house.
Anthony opened the door and peered out through an inch-wide gap. One brown eye looked Connor up and down. Connor stood up straighter and fixed Anthony with a hard stare. “You’d better come in,” the agent said after a long pause.
Dressed in knit joggers and a T-shirt, the agent looked less stuffy than he had previously. He led Connor into the living room of the rental. Connor had left Farley in his truck. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what’s going on?” Anthony said.
Connor wanted to drag the man out by the ear and make him come with him to rescue Stacy.
But that would probably only end up with him in a jail cell.
So he sat on the edge of the sofa and tried to remain calm.
“Yesterday morning—or maybe late yesterday—Agent Stacy Macrae went out to Shane Greer’s ranch to check out some information she uncovered in the course of her investigation,” he began.
“How do you know this?” Anthony interrupted.
“Last Friday evening, Agent Macrae and I attended a rally organized by Shane Greer to recruit people for a protest against the ski resort.”
“You’re part of this protest group?”
“No, but I was pretending to be to provide cover for Agent Macrae.”
Anthony scowled. Connor wasn’t sure if this was because Anthony disapproved of this strategy or because this was his default facial expression. “What happened at the rally?” Anthony asked.
“Greer learned I was with ski patrol. He asked if I had experience working with explosives. When I told him I did, he asked for my help.”
Anthony had tensed. “What kind of help?”
“He said he needed help setting off a fireworks display at a rally in the town square on Martin Luther King Day. The rally was part of his planned protest. He showed us the fireworks—bottle rockets and Roman candles and things like that. I declined to help, and he seemed disappointed. But then three days later, we had the inbounds avalanche at the resort. I thought—and Agent Macrae agreed—that it might be some members of the protest group practicing with stolen cast boosters prior to a bigger action planned during the holiday weekend.”
“Why MLK weekend?” Anthony asked.
“It’s one of the busiest weekends of the year for the resort,” Connor said. “We usually set a record for visitors. With lots of people here, Greer emphasized that he wanted to use the opportunity to sway public opinion against the ski resort expansion.”
“Did he specifically say what his plans are?”
“At the meeting last Friday night, he said he wanted people to deliberately impede skier traffic on the runs. There would also be groups collecting signatures on petitions all weekend, and on Sunday there’s a planned rally in the square, with a band and, presumably, a fireworks show.”
“I don’t believe any of that is illegal.”
“It’s not. But when Stacy went out to Greer’s ranch, she found people launching cast boosters at a quarry there.
They said they were practicing for some big event Friday.
She said Greer plans to set bombs at the resort.
If they’re allowed to carry out those plans, hundreds of people could be injured or killed. ”
“How do you know any of this?”
“When Stacy and her father didn’t return to their condo last night or answer my texts, I went out to the ranch to search for them. I found them locked in an old chicken house. I wasn’t able to free her and her father, but she told me what she learned and asked me to contact you.”
“I spoke with her father early yesterday morning. He must have told her I was in town.”
“He did. And now she needs your help.”
“How do I know you’re not telling me all this to set a trap? I go out to this ranch, and I’m ambushed.”
“I’m not asking you to go there by yourself. Can’t you get a team to go out there? Or ask the sheriff to back you up?”
“It’s not like we have people on standby in the next apartment,” he said. “It takes time to set up a raid. And we can’t rush in without probable cause.”
“One of your agents is being held hostage. Someone set off an avalanche in the resort Monday. Someone else planted a fake bomb at one of the ski lifts.”
Anthony’s scowl intensified. “You didn’t mention a bomb before.”
“Someone planted a pretty good replica of a cast booster with fuses at Lift Four yesterday.”
“But the bomb was fake.”
“Yes, but I think it was a practice run for tomorrow. Someone wanted to make sure they could plant a bomb without being detected.”
Anthony sat back and rubbed his jaw. “You can show me where Stacy and her father are being held?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me change clothes, and you can take me there.”
He rose, and Connor stood too. “Just you?” Connor asked.
“Once I’ve assessed the situation for myself, I’ll be in a better position to mobilize more help.”
“Fine. You change. I’ll meet you back here in fifteen minutes.”
“Where are you going?” Anthony asked as Connor headed for the door.
“I have to feed my dog. I’ll be back in a few minutes to pick you up.”
Connor did feed Farley, but his main reason for heading back to his apartment was to remove his pistol from the gun safe in the closet.
Agent Anthony would surely be armed when they visited the ranch, and he had seen for himself that many of the people there carried weapons.
He wasn’t going to be left with no way to defend himself and Stacy.
Anthony was waiting when Connor pulled into the condo complex.
Dressed all in black, down to a black balaclava, he looked ready for a burglary.
He slid into the passenger seat of Connor’s truck, then frowned at Farley, who stuck his head between the seats.
“What are you thinking, bringing a dog along?”
“He could prove useful.”
“He’ll be in the way.”
“Let me worry about him.”
Anthony settled back in the passenger seat. “What do you know about this rancher?” he asked.