Chapter 6
Jessy wasn’t sure why she awoke.
But it seemed that her senses were instantly alert to danger.
Someone was at the door to her room; they were twisting the knob, doing it slowly, trying to do it silently.
She wasn’t sure why she was so instantly alarmed. The ranch had two dogs who would go off like sirens if someone was there who shouldn’t be.
But . . .
She wasn’t imagining it. Someone was very furtively about to enter.
What made it so alarming she didn’t know. Except that, of course, no one ever bothered her in her room. When she’d been here in days gone by, her folks or her grandfather might have knocked at her door.
Even Samantha, if she’d asked her to make sure that she was up by a certain time.
But no one ever just opened her door to come in.
She flew out of her bed and into the closet, quickly covering herself with clothing, wishing she’d had the sense to drag her purse—with her phone in it—along with her.
But as it was . . .
She had just gotten into position when the door opened fully. She heard someone enter the room.
And then swear softly.
“Where the damned hell is she?”
The speaker didn’t bother to be quiet, to whisper.
Why?
Samantha might have heard, except . . .
The night had been strange. And now, of course, she knew the voice.
David Benson.
What the hell was David Benson doing, sneaking into her room in the night?
Worse. He received an answer.
“She’s not here? She must be here! I watched her come up. Aw, hell, how are we going to get her and find out what the hell the treasure is without her?”
Jenson Applegate?
How was this possible?
“Did you look under the bed?”
Jenson demanded, and Jessy could hear him doing so himself.
“All right, I’m to go out looking. Oh, man, they’re too close—maybe she’s out there sleeping with the cow kid—our illustrious next-door neighbor, Wyatt McFarlane!”
“I saw her come up here!”
David protested.
“And I went out to see if McFarlane was really out—he’s sound asleep in the stables! Alone.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Jenson asked.
“Damn it, yes. I saw him. I didn’t see her!”
David swore again.
A light went on in her room.
“Is she down the hall, in her grandfather’s room . . . ? She has to have passed out by now! I checked our quarters—Tate, Cody, and Eddie are out like lights! She must have walked somewhere and then passed out,”
Jenson said.
“Damn! We had everything all set . . . Leave it to little miss perfect New Yorker to screw everything up! All right, I’m heading down the hall!”
Jessy was still astonished.
Jenson . . . David . . . people who had worked for her grandfather for years, suddenly proving to be . . .
What?
Was it possible, could they have carried out crimes at the four corners, in the state, here . . . at the house on the outskirts of Colorado Springs?
She listened as intently as she could. The one man was leaving the room—Jenson Applegate.
And the other man, David Benson, was moving around her room, coming to the closet.
She heard him open the door, begin to shuffle through the hanging clothing. He was going to be on top of her any minute.
Suddenly, clothing shifted completely—and she was crouched in the far corner of the closet staring up at David Benson.
Not the good old boy she’d always known.
A different David Benson. A man who stared at her with pure fury and malicious intent.
“Ah, man, you screwed up! ’Cause you’ve seen me now and, well . . . you should have just passed out, Jessy. We could have covered you up, masked ourselves . . . leave you to die somewhere with a little bit of hope of living—like that Chrissie girl! Well—”
He broke off and reached for her.
“Touch her and you’re a dead man!”
Startled, David Benson straightened.
“I’ve got a Glock 19 trained at your head and I know how to use it really well!”
Jessy swallowed hard.
The man was just staring at her. He had a gun, she realized, tucked into a holster held at his left side on his belt.
He stared at her.
And reached for the gun.
She heard the explosion of a bullet; David Benson screamed in agony.
But he was alive, falling back, grabbing the left side of his body. He staggered forward; for a moment, she thought that he was going to fall on her.
She shoved him back and he stumbled, falling backward, falling flat with a tremendous crashing sound.
She jumped out of the closet, stunned anew.
Apparently, Wyatt didn’t trust the man, even shot through the hand and the hip; he had hunkered down by him with small plastic strips that looked like something that might close a food storage bag—but they were handcuffs, she realized.
He cuffed the man while pulling out his phone, hitting a number and quickly announcing to whoever answered where he was and what was happening. But as he did so, she saw Jenson Applegate appear at the door.
And he was armed.
And aiming his gun at Wyatt’s head.
She would never know what propelled her at that moment—she usually thought of herself as pretty much a coward.
But everything that had happened in the last few minutes had been stunning, terrifying, surreal . . .
And so was the move she made.
Shrieking like a banshee, she propelled herself at Jenson. She did so with such force that the two of them went crashing to the ground.
The man’s gun went off.
But she wasn’t hit; neither was Wyatt. Jenson’s bullet soared upward with the speed of light and hit the ceiling, creating another shattering sound as the man’s gun went sliding far across the room.
She was on top of Jenson.
He stared at her furiously, shoving at her and trying to get his hands around her neck.
Not a chance.
Wyatt caught hold of Jessy, lifting her far from the man. And when Jenson tried to rise after her in his fury, Wyatt caught him with a solid blow to the chin that sent the man reeling back to the floor with a thud.
He’d holstered his own gun; he seemed to know what he was doing. In a flash, he had taken out a second set of the baggie-tie-looking cuffs, and they were on the man.
By then, David was bellowing in pain, claiming that Wyatt was a monster, that he was the one who had orchestrated everything; they had just been trying to save her because they knew that he was on the property.
“Too late, David. I remember every word that you said to me when you found me in the closet,”
Jessy told him.
And then, even though they were on a ranch—far from a crowded area—she heard sirens in the night.
And in seconds, officers—in uniform and not—were spilling into the house. One female officer wanted to know if she had been assaulted, if she wanted to go to the hospital.
No, no, no. She didn’t want to go to the hospital.
And, of course, it was amazing that with all the commotion . . .
“Samantha!”
she said, and she swept through the law enforcement in the ranch house and hurried to Samantha’s room.
The housekeeper still appeared to be sound asleep.
“She’s been drugged; they slipped it into the coffee and cocoa and everything we had tonight,”
Wyatt said from behind her. He looked over at one of the officers in plainclothes and said.
“We need medical attention out here—”
“EMTs on the way. And there’s an ambulance waiting for the fellow you shot—don’t worry, Miss Danson, McFarlane, he’ll be arrested and read his rights on the way,”
the man told him.
The man seemed to know Wyatt and know him well. Jessy made sure that Samantha was breathing; she was.
She seemed fine. Except that she didn’t wake up. She made a little noise and adjusted her position when Jessy tried to wake her.
“She’ll be all right, I believe.”
Jessy turned. She studied the man in plainclothes who seemed to be in charge. He was tall, bald, in excellent physical shape, and wearing a suit. He was a man, she thought, in control of any situation he encountered.
And Wyatt seemed to know him, too.
He turned from Jessy to Wyatt.
“The others are checking on the men down in their living quarters. From seeing this woman, I believe they’ll be all right. But more ambulances, as I said, are on the way.”
“Thank you,”
Wyatt told him.
“They’ll get the injured man first, of course.”
“Right, I might have completely shattered his hip. No choice. He was drawing a gun,”
Wyatt said.
“His gun is back in Jessy’s room—flew up and across the bed when I shot him—and Jenson Applegate’s gun is at the far side of her room, by the wall. Jessy tackled him when he was about to shoot me in the head. He still tried to strangle her.”
“CSU will be in here, but you know the drill—”
“Yes, sir, I know the drill,”
Wyatt said, handing his own weapon over to the man.
And it was suddenly too much.
“Who are you?”
Jessy demanded, staring at Wyatt.
He closed his eyes for a second, wincing.
“I’m sorry, Jessy. I’ve been working on these robberies undercover. This gentleman is SSA Vargas, my supervisor.”
“And you, miss, are quite an amazing young woman,”
Vargas said, nodding appreciatively to her.
“First, you find a young woman that three different law enforcement agencies couldn’t find, and now . . .”
“You saved my life,”
Wyatt told her.
She still frowned, confused.
“Working undercover?”
“Wyat is with the bureau, has been for years,”
Vargas told her.
“He’s one of our best, and in this instance, he was incredibly useful undercover with his own identity since he’s from here, knows the area, knows the people . . . and anyway, I’m sorry, but after all this, we need to bring you in to give your statement. And you’re sure you’re all right? We can make sure that you receive medical attention—”
“No, no, I don’t need medical attention! But . . . well, we never just leave the ranch, and if Samantha and the others are at the hospital or being arrested—”
“Right now, the ranch is a crime scene. We’ll have agents here,”
Vargas promised her. He smiled.
“We won’t keep you long. We know you endured a very long day already.”
Well, there was one thing that was good; she hadn’t been drugged because she’d only pretended to enjoy snacks and drinks with their friends.
Apparently, Wyatt had done the same.
Because he’d been on duty. He’d been working. Of course, that was a good thing—she had no idea what might have happened to her if he hadn’t been there to stop David Benson and Jenson Applegate.
But had anything between them been real? On her part, yes.
But he had been working undercover! Were the little moments of intimacy they had shared nothing more than a necessary act?
No real chance to think about it then.
She gathered her things, opting to drive into Colorado Springs with one of the agents she had met the night before, leaving Wyatt and his superior to drive in together.
She wasn’t put through any kind of a drill; she simply described exactly what had happened. She didn’t know all that much about law enforcement—federal or local—but she assumed that Wyatt was doing whatever an agent had to do when criminals had been stopped but one had been shot in the process.
When she was finished, she was glad to see that he wasn’t in an outer room, waiting.
When she was offered a ride home, she opted for a ride to the hospital instead.
She had to find out how Cody, Samantha, Tate, and Eddie were doing.
She was able to speak with a doctor who told her that they were still doing blood tests but that the group brought in was doing well; each one of them was in stable condition, and from various cases he’d worked before, they might have been dosed with a mixture of cocaine—and alcohol.
Well, Jenson Applegate had been pouring the drinks. Friendly, pleasant, having a good old time . . .
And possibly the last person anyone might suspect.
But she needed to know that her people would be fine. At the moment, though . . .
To use a truly professional term, the doctor told her dryly, they were all still loopy.
And still, she went to check on everyone.
And it was Cody, confused—loopy—fighting for his sense of reason, who told her that he should have suspected something; David Benson had been bad about arriving for shifts on time.
He’d taken to staying out all night in the last months, hinting that he had a new love in his life.
But he’d also been convinced, once Kelly Danson had left to head east to be with his family in his final days, that Kelly had left a treasure behind.
A treasure that would go to his granddaughter.
“The treasure is the ranch!”
Cody whispered.
“The ranch, the house, the horses, the stables . . . How could I have worked with people for so many years, and not known?”
Jessy tried to calm him, telling him that they were lucky it had worked out the way that it had.
Lucky, because Wyatt McFarlane had been there.
Determined not to drink so that he could help her get ready for the rodeo.
Maybe it was a really good thing that her parents hadn’t managed to get a flight yet.
She managed to see Samantha, Eddie, and Tate for just a few minutes, time to assure them that they were going to be all right, they’d be coming home soon.
Then the agent assigned to her assured her that the crime scene units had finished at her house; she could go home if she chose, and they’d have an agent keeping watch over everything until her people were able to come home.
She was assured with the evidence they’d accrued against Benson and Applegate that the men would be remanded. They would not be out for years and years.
She was fine.
She wanted to go home.
At the house, she went to see the dogs where they were keeping guard in the stables. She didn’t blame them.
They hadn’t known those they considered to be friends were the enemy.
Neither had she.
But . . .
How much had Wyatt known? What had he suspected?
Second night, little or no sleep. She didn’t go upstairs; she crashed out on the couch where Jenson Applegate had pretended to be just as knocked out as the rest of the household.
She slept, despite the tug-of-war going on in her mind. And when she woke up, Wyatt McFarlane was sitting in one of the parlor’s armchairs, watching her.
She sat up immediately, staring at him.
“Wyatt, you don’t need to be here anymore. You caught your crooks. I mean, man, I’m sorry as hell that it was here. I still can’t believe that these men worked for my grandfather for years, and . . .”
“I believe it was when your grandfather first became ill that they started on this. And I’ll be honest—I had no clue until I heard Cody talking to David one day,”
Wyatt explained.
“Look, I’m exceedingly glad that they’ve been caught! I do believe that they would have killed me if you hadn’t been here—”
“Hey, Jenson Applegate could have shot me. What you did was incredibly foolhardy and brave and still . . . he could have shot you, and that horrifies me, and on the other hand, he could have killed me—”
“If you hadn’t been there, I would have died. The idiots were convinced that my grandfather had some kind of treasure stashed here and that I must know what it was and where it was. But there is no treasure, and they weren’t the brightest of criminals because, seriously, how could they guarantee that all of us would be out cold? They couldn’t, but they have been getting away with it for a while, so they must have studied up on how to manage a crime and leave no evidence. But the point is, Wyatt, they’ve been caught. You don’t need to—”
She was startled when he moved over to the couch, sitting beside her, taking her hand and speaking to her earnestly.
“Jessy, Jessy, it killed me not to tell you the truth! And it amazed me, of course, that you were the one who didn’t give up on Chrissie, who was determined when the rest of us couldn’t find a building anywhere near the house where she might have been stashed away. And you found her. You’ve been a far superior law enforcement agent and you’re not in law enforcement at all. But Jessy . . .”
For a minute, his voice trailed.
“Jessy, I swear to you, every second I was with you . . . all I wanted to do was be with you!”
He sounded so honest, so sincere.
But she was still reeling. She stood.
“Jessy?”
“I’m going to go and take Shiloh through his paces. The rodeo is coming up,”
she told him.
“Excuse me. I know you’re an agent and that agents are supposedly watching over me until others return, but you really don’t need to stay—”
“Jessy, the rodeo isn’t the end of the world, you know. If you—”
“I can see little more important right now than getting my horse up to speed. Excuse me.”
“I’ll help.”
“I don’t need you—”
“But I need you . . . the rodeo . . . horse . . . bulls.”
She headed out. He followed her.
And as it happened, they worked through the afternoon. Worked, and as they did so, Jessy remembered everything about riding, weight distribution, heels down, feeling the animal beneath you, know your horse, his every movement.
Bizarrely, it was a good afternoon.
At last, when she cooled Shiloh down and brushed him after their hours working at the paddock, she realized that she hadn’t told her parents anything.
They would hear about it on the news, she was afraid!
“What’s wrong?”
Wyatt asked her.
“My folks are coming soon. And . . .”
“Call them. Hey, I called mine first chance I got,”
Wyatt told her.
“But they know what you do, right?”
He shrugged.
“Pity you couldn’t have shared that info with me!”
He shrugged, shaking his head.
“Jessy . . . never mind. I guess it’s asking too much for you to forgive me.”
She didn’t reply. She made a call through to her father, making it all as light as she could. But, of course, he was in shock—he’d known all his father’s employees forever and ever, too, and he was stunned and distraught.
She realized that Wyatt could see she was having trouble with the call. He reached for her phone with a brow arched high.
And she listened. Well, he’d gotten good at telling the truth—with a twist. They’d been in control the entire time. Jessy was a heroine to all in the region. She was amazing.
“Well!”
her father said, when she had the phone again.
“Thank God for Wyatt!”
“Uh, yeah.”
At last, she was able to end the call. She wouldn’t be picking them up at the airport until five Friday. She tried to talk more about the horses, assuring her father that he and her mom would have fun—they’d get there just in time for the rodeo, an art show opening, and Christmas!
When she ended the call at last, Wyatt was watching her.
“Okay, it’s all good. You really can leave now,”
she told him.
He shook his head.
“I can just sit on the porch if you like.”
“Fine. Suit yourself,”
she told him.
Jessy realized that they hadn’t eaten. They were both exhausted, of course, but . . . well, if they were hungry, they’d wake up once they’d fallen asleep.
She went on into the kitchen and found that Samantha had seen that they were well supplied with tuna and salmon.
She started preparing dinner: salmon, peas, corn, and rice.
The whole time she was cooking, she didn’t see Wyatt. When the meal was prepared at last, she headed out to the porch.
“Um, I cooked. You did save my life. I guess you could eat.”
“Well, since you saved my life, too, I’ll be grateful to eat while I’m alive!”
he told her.
He left the chair and followed her into the house. They ate in the kitchen, quiet for most of the meal. Toward the end, however, he swore softly.
“I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“The animals! They all need to be fed.”
“Oh, my God! I’m horrible. My grandfather never should have trusted this place to me in any way, shape, or form! I need to do that—”
“Stop! You fed us, I’ll feed them. Remember, son of a rancher, you know.”
“Undercover cowboy!”
she said sweetly.
He winced and headed out. After a while, she followed him. He was finished with the last of his hay dumps and looked at her. Of course, Misty and Morgan were all over them, and she petted the dogs and looked at him and said.
“Thank you.”
“Dinner was great. Maybe I could be a pescatarian,”
he told her.
“And don’t worry, I’ll be on the porch all night.”
She’d known him all her life, in a way, she thought.
She’d just been so stunned. And then . . .
So hurt and confused, grateful, and wounded and wondering, what was part of work, what was part of all that everyone seemed to think existed between the two of them.
Did it matter? She was an adult. She’d head back to New York when she damned well felt like it. Life here had become unexpectedly and ridiculously traumatic. She was in no condition to make important decisions, but . . .
“You don’t have to stay on the porch. You’re welcome to come in.”
“I should—”
“I’m not blind. There’s a car down at the property line—one of your fellows has been looking over this place all day. And you’re not officially working, I know. You handed in your gun and badge to be cleared in the shooting.”
He smiled.
“You watch too much TV,”
he told her.
She smiled sweetly.
“Not really. I have a lot of books! The point being, you’re welcome to stay in the house. I know you’re not officially working.”
He shrugged.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Or go home.”
“I still just . . .”
He broke off, shaking his head.
“I still just need to know that you’re safe.”
She smiled, nodded, and headed up the stairs. She really needed a shower.
But in the shower, she kept thinking and thinking.
Of course, everything in the last hours had been ridiculous and amazing, so . . .
She stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself up in a towel. Wincing inwardly, she knew what she was about to do. But she couldn’t stop herself. Real or not, she didn’t want to disbelieve all that had grown between them.
She had promised that their kissing would be continued.
And so, in her towel, she headed down the stairs. He’d been reading one of her grandfather’s books on World War II, but when she appeared, he looked up, frowning.
“You need a shower. Badly,”
she told him.
His frown deepened. “But—”
“Seriously!”
Curiously, he set the book down and rose.
“Jessy, I’d never rush you, I’d never push you . . . I mean, I know you’re angry, but I really had no choice, but the thing of it is, I swear, every minute with you—”
“Please! Just get in the shower!”
He hurried up the stairs, stopping in front of her.
“Get in, please!” she said.
He did so.
And she dropped her towel and stepped in behind him, slipping her arms around him, laying her cheek against his back and just holding on for a minute.
She felt his heartbeat, felt his strength.
And when he turned to her, she knew—she understood—it had hurt him worse than it was hurting her now to keep the truth from her.
She smiled, and when they kissed, it seemed like an eternal kiss, as if all pretense was washed away within the heat of their lips and fall of the water.
And then they were both able to smile, tease with words and lips and fingertips, determined that they wouldn’t fall and break their necks in the shower, that they could and would continue these kisses.
And so, they did.
It felt like lying with him was something she had waited for, wanted all of her life.
And then . . .
That night, they slept together.
Of course, when the staff returned the following day, an hour ensued of everyone being incredulous, horrified, and gratified that they were all alive.
And hailing their heroes.
Apparently the plan had been to spirit Jessy away and hold her far into an old field until she gave up th.
“treasure.”
They’d have come back to the property themselves to have been drugged by the kidnappers as well.
Now . . . they’d all just be waiting for a court date.
Jessy still managed to work with Shiloh quite a bit before she and Wyatt were headed for the airport at last.
Samantha, insisting she was just fine, wanted to create a wonderful feast for Jessy, Wyatt, Jessy’s folks—and Wyatt’s folks.
And she did. So, despite more talk about the robberies and what had happened at the ranch, it was a strangely good night. One that apparently let both sets of parents realize that their children were . . . a duo.
The next day was even better.
Wyatt took the bull riding championship and Jessy won in the barrel racing category.
Sunday, they were off to the art show, the gallery opening. And Jessy discovered that she loved the owner who knew her work and was in love with it.
He wanted to do a showcase of her work. Well, of course, if she was going to determine a time when she was going to be out there, and they could arrange a date.
Wyatt had time off; he and the band accepted an offer to play at Murphy’s Pub on Christmas Eve and so their families all joined them as well, and with friends and others, they filled the place—making Brian Murphy very happy.
Jessy did ”What Child Is This?”
with Wyatt again, making their parents very happy as well.
It was Christmas morning when Wyatt arrived, anxious to see her as soon as possible. Jessy had determined that the hands were going to have the day off—entirely off—and Wyatt was helping her feed all the livestock.
Extra hay for Christmas!
And when she shoved aside one of the dividers, that was when she found her grandfather’.
“treasure.”
Others might not have recognized the painting. It was of a small boy. A shimmering halo was above his head and his hands were folded in prayer while bombs exploded around him.
She hadn’t realized that Wyatt had come in behind her until she heard his exclamation.
“Oh, wow! My lord, it can’t be—”
She spun on him.
“You know what that is? I mean, if it’s real, but I think that it is!”
“The missing Markel. It’s called Halo.”
Not even all those who had studied art for years knew about Michael Markel, an artist who had worked in Germany during World War II, escaping just before he might have spent his final days in a camp.
He’d done ten famous paintings about the war.
And . . . at the end of the war, the whereabouts of one had been unknown while others sat in art museums around the world.
“How do you know—”
she began.
He smiled at her.
“Your grandfather’s book. He collected so many. And it all makes sense. Who else should have such a ‘treasure,’ who else but an artist to truly appreciate the meaning of the piece above the value of the piece!”
“Well, it’s going to need to hang in the house! I wonder why he kept it out here. Oh, and the odd thing is—”
“That David and Jenson saw it several times, at least, and never had any idea that they knew exactly where a treasure could be found.”
She smiled. She walked up to him, curling her arms around his neck and looking into his eyes.
“I know something that they would never understand,”
she said softly.
He smiled.
“What’s that?”
he asked her.
“This painting is a treasure. But I don’t think it was the treasure my grandfather might have meant for me.”
“Oh?”
“You’re my treasure!”
she said softly.
“And mine forever. Here, New York, I can transfer . . . uh, I don’t have a diamond yet, but . . .”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
she demanded.
“Uh, yeah. Not really horribly romantic, here in a feed shed, but . . .”
She laughed softly. “I’m in.”
“But I thought that all you really wanted was to get back to the city for Christmas—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, shaking her head.
“I’ve found real treasure. Grandfather left it for me. I just had to realize what it was!”
she told him.
“And I swear, with every ounce of me, for all of my life . . . if you’re finding me to be part of this treasure . . . well, you’ve got this one! And seriously, for all of our lives!”
Christmas.
She would always miss her grandfather. And even having passed on . . .
Even with the trauma of the robbers . . .
Kelly Danson had managed to leave her pure treasure, the best Christmas present ever!