Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe. Cassie Miles
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“What about the primary objective? The kidnapping.”
“My brother wanted the FBI gone,” Carolyn said. “After Dylan talked to Nicole, he was convinced that she’s all right and doesn’t want to come home.”
No victim meant no crime. Jesse understood that part of the equation, but a million dollars had gone missing. “What about the ransom? That money is as much Carolyn’s as Dylan’s.”
“True,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I want the ransom back. But Dylan called off the investigation. He’s saying that the million dollars is a divorce settlement.”
“Assuming that it went to Nicole,” Jesse said. “That she ran off with one of her abductors.”
“Finding the body at Fiona’s house sheds a new light on the situation,” Burke said. “We’ll have to wait for DNA to be certain of his identity. Based on his height, hair color and the custom-made belt buckle, I’m pretty sure the dead man is Butch Thurgood.”
Jesse had never heard the name before. “Was he one of the kidnappers?”
“You tell me.” Burke placed the computer in front of him. “Scroll down and tell me if you recognize the men who shot you.”
Concentrating, Jesse stared at the computer screen. Though he didn’t have a clear view of Nicole’s abductors, he’d been close enough, and he was good at remembering faces. The line of a jaw. The curve of a nose.
The first three images were unfamiliar. Then came the fourth. “This man,” he said. “He’s the one who shot me.”
“Are you sure?”
Jesse studied the weak chin and narrow lines of the face. In the computer image, his eyes were visible. His cruelty, apparent. “He didn’t have as much facial hair as in this photo, but this is him.”
“Pete Richter,” Carolyn said.
Tapping the computer key, Jesse looked at other faces. Most of them were average—the kind of men who didn’t stand out in a crowd. One of them looked like a cowboy from the Old West with a thick mustache and lantern jaw. “This might be the victim we found at Fiona’s place.”
“Is he the other kidnapper?”
Jesse shook his head. “The guy who grabbed Nicole was fair-haired. No mustache.”
He stopped on another image. “This is the second kidnapper. He’s the one who said that Dylan would pay a lot of money to get his wife back.”
Carolyn gasped. “It’s Sam Logan. Damn him. I should have known.”
“Logan was the leader of the SOF,” Burke explained. “We suspected he was behind the kidnapping but didn’t think he was also the primary kidnapper.”
“He’s been taken into custody?”
“Correct.”
Jesse had a lot more questions about the delivery of the ransom and the evidence that had been gathered in the prior investigation. “I’d like to review your files on the case.”
“It’s all on this laptop,” Burke said.
“If you print it out, I can take a copy with me. I’ll be staying at Fiona’s until we’re sure there’s no danger to her or her daughter.”
“Good plan,” Carolyn said with obvious relief. “I was going to suggest that she and Abby move over here, but I’m sure the little girl would feel better in her own house.”
Fiona marched back into the dining room with a tray that she placed in front of Jesse. “Milk and oatmeal,” she said.
“No coffee?”
“Not until you have something else in your stomach. You probably haven’t eaten solid food for days.”
He glared into the bowl of mushy oatmeal. “I want coffee.”
“After you’re finished with this,” she said.
Being treated like an invalid wasn’t his thing. Even though he’d been injured. Even though he’d technically died for a couple of minutes.
But Fiona stood firm. She was so determined to nurture him that she just might pick up the spoon and start feeding him herself.
Reluctantly, he shoveled in a mouthful of oatmeal. Sweetened with brown sugar, it didn’t taste half bad. But it was heavy, thick. When he forced himself to swallow, it felt as if he could trace the lump through his digestive system.
He looked up at Burke. “How about it? Can I look at your files?”
“This is official FBI business. Technically, I shouldn’t share.” He looked toward Carolyn. “But I’ve already broken too many rules to count, and I’d like your input.”
“I appreciate your trust.” Jesse washed down another bite of oatmeal with a swig of milk.
Fiona turned to Burke and asked, “When do you think the sheriff will be done with my house? I need to pick up my daughter from the babysitter.”
“A couple more hours,” Burke said. “They’re looking for prints and other forensic evidence. And they have to process the body.”
“Have dinner with us,” Carolyn said. “I know Abby loves to be around the horses.”
“Wonderful.” Fiona beamed. “Maybe we can get started with those Christmas decorations.”
While the two women chatted about Christmas trees and family ornaments, Jesse worked on his food. His gut roiled, but he knew Fiona was right. He needed solid food. He needed to recover his full strength.
When he looked up from the nearly empty bowl, he saw Dylan Carlisle standing in the dining-room entryway. A few days ago, when he’d first met Dylan, Jesse had the impression that he was dealing with a strong, reliable man who was capable of running a cattle ranching empire. The tall, lean cowboy who stood so silently was a pale reflection of his former self.
Dylan’s shoulders were stooped. His clothes, rumpled. The circles around his green eyes made him look as though he’d been punched in the face. His cheeks were hollow. Losing his wife had nearly destroyed him.
“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered, Jesse.” Dylan’s voice was as cold as a January blizzard. “As of now, your services are no longer required.”
Apparently, Dylan didn’t share Carolyn’s opinion about Jesse being a hero. As he rose from the table to face the devastated man, Jesse felt the bitter ache of failure. There was truth in Dylan’s accusation. He’d been hired to protect the Carlisle family, and he had failed.
“I want to see this through,” Jesse said.
“There’s nothing more to do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carolyn snapped at her brother. “We still need security. They just found a dead body at Fiona’s place.”
Dylan looked at Fiona as if seeing her for the first time. “Is Abby okay?”
“She wasn’t home, thank God.”
“It was one of the kidnappers,” Carolyn said. “Butch Thurgood.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Thurgood? The horse whisperer?”
“We need to keep investigating,” she said. “That’s why Burke is here, and I want to keep Longbridge Security.”
“Damn it, Carolyn. It’s over. Can’t you get it through your head? Nicole isn’t coming back. She doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”
“I want to offer my services,” Jesse said. “No charge.”
“Haven’t you done enough?” Dylan lurched forward and braced his hands on the table. “You were supposed to keep