Rough Rider

Boone nodded. “Vance Elliot was an impostor, but surprisingly he helped flush out my real biological brother. The news media doesn’t know about it because he doesn’t want the publicity, which I can’t blame him for. In fact, he wants nothing to do with my family. Another reason why I need to find Jesse Rose. Hopefully, she won’t break our father’s heart.”

* * *

THE NEWS TOOK C.J. by surprise. A son who wanted nothing to do with his family? The subject, though, appeared to be closed as he went back to work. Not that she wasn’t curious, but right now she had to find out who had wanted Hank dead.

Sometimes she forgot he was gone. She’d spent so many hours in this office with him growing up... She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Hank had meant everything to her. The thought of him being gone... She pushed it away, telling herself she owed it to him to find his killer. That’s what she had to focus on right now. Later she would have time for grief, for regrets, for the pain that lay just beneath the surface.

She reached for more files from the floor, her fingers trembling. She stopped to squeeze her hands into fists for a moment. If there was one thing C.J. hated to show, it was any kind of weakness. Maybe especially to a man like Boone McGraw. She could look at the set of his jaw or gaze into those frosty blue eyes and she knew what kind of man he was. Stubbornly strong, like a tree that had lived through everything thrown at it for all its years. Just like Hank.

“It’s not here,” Boone said after an hour had passed. “Unless your partner didn’t write it down. Or if he did, whoever tore up this place took the information with him.”

With a sigh, C.J. carried a handful of case files over to one of the cabinets and set them inside just to get them out of the way. Files were everywhere. Then again, this was pretty normal for Hank’s office. He’d never been organized. It was one reason they’d never been able to share an office.

She took a moment before she turned to look at Boone McGraw. The cowboy took up a lot of space. The broad shoulders, the towering height—all that maleness culminated into one handsome, cocky cowboy. She bet most women swooned at his feet and was glad she wasn’t one of them.

“So we’re back to square one,” she said, sounding as discouraged as she felt. She’d looked through all of the files, including those that Boone had also looked through. Not only hadn’t she found anything about the McGraw kidnapping, she hadn’t seen any old case that might have gotten Hank killed.

“Not necessarily,” Boone said as he put both palms on the desk and leaned toward her. “Your partner knew something about the kidnapping. Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper’s accomplice. And if I’m right then you can help me prove it.”

Chapter Four (#ud8aa55e5-1064-5278-937c-b2e70e3406a8)

C.J. pulled up Hank’s old leather chair and dropped into it. She was too tired, too wrung out, too filled with grief to take on this cowboy. Nor could she see how she would be able to prove anything.

She pushed a stack of old files out of the way and dropped her elbows to the top of the scarred desk to rest her chin in her hands. She watched Boone McGraw pick up files and put them back into the filing cabinets. He was actually cleaning up the office. The sight would have made her laugh, if she’d had the energy.

What she needed was sleep. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Hank’s death. She doubted she would tonight, but sitting here wasn’t helping. As she started to get up, she pushed off the desk only to have the worn top shift under her hands.

With a start she remembered something she’d seen Hank do when he was interrupted by a walk-in. Sitting back, she felt into the crack between the old oak desktop and the even older one beneath it. Hank had loved this desk and hadn’t been able to part with it even after one of his cigars had burned the original top badly. Rather than replace it, he’d simply covered it up.

She’d seen files disappear from view only to be retrieved later after a client left. Her fingers brushed against something that felt like the edge of a file folder. She worked it out, her heart leaping up into her throat as she saw the name printed on it in Hank’s neat script: McGraw.

“Did you find something?” Boone asked, stopping his organizing to step closer.

She looked up, having forgotten about him for a moment. When had Hank shoved this file into the crack? Who would have walked in that he didn’t want them to see it? Her heart began to pound. Until that moment, she had refused to believe that Hank would have taken the McGraw kidnapping case—let alone that it could have anything to do with getting him killed.

C.J. tried to remember the last time she’d stopped by Hank’s office. The thousands of times all melted together. Had he ever furtively hidden a file when she’d walked in? Had he the last time she saw him alive, just hours before he was struck down and killed?

Her fingers were trembling as she opened the file and saw that there was only one sheet of yellow lined notebook paper—the kind Hank always used. There were also only a few words written on it, several phone numbers and some doodling off to one side. She read the words: “Travers McGraw, Sundown Stallion Station, Whitehorse, Montana. Oakley, Jesse Rose, six months old. Stuffed toy horse. Pink ribbon. Pink grosgrain ribbon.”

* * *

BOONE HAD SEEN her expression when she’d pulled the manila file folder out from what appeared to be a crack between the new desktop and the old warped one. She’d found something that had made her pale.

“May I?” he asked again.

Silently, C.J. handed over the file, crossed her arms and watched as Boone opened it as if she’d known he was going to be disappointed.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he said after looking at the words written on the yellow-lined sheet of paper inside.

“That’s all there is.”

He could see that she was shaken by what she’d found. Not only had Hank started a file, he’d hidden it. That had to mean something given how the color had drained from her face and how shaken she still looked.

She started around the desk, bumped into him as she stumbled into an unstable stack of files. He caught her, his hands going around her slim waist as she clutched at him for a moment before she got her balance and pulled free. She headed toward a small door he hadn’t noticed before. As she opened it, he saw it was a compact bathroom.

Boone turned his attention back to the file as she closed the door. So Hank Knight had started a file. But if he’d found out anything, there was no indication of it. Maybe the man didn’t know anything about Jesse Rose. Maybe he was just curious.

Or maybe not, he realized as he stared at the notes the PI had taken. He’d known about the stuffed toy horse. But he’d also known about the pink ribbon around its neck—something that hadn’t been released to the press.

He studied the doodling on the side of the page. Hank had drawn a little girl with chin-length hair. His depiction of Jesse Rose from his imagination? Or his memory? Beside the girl, Hank had drawn what looked like a little dog.

A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush. C.J. came out drying her hands on a paper towel. He studied her for a moment. She seemed different somehow. She looked stronger, more assured. He realized she’d probably used the bathroom to get over the shock of finding the hidden file. But what about it had shaken her? The realization that he could be right?

“Did you ever have a dog?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

He motioned to the file and the doodle on the side.

“You think that means something? Doesn’t every little girl have a dog?”

“Did you?” Boone waited patiently for her to answer.

“No, all right? If you must know, we lived in a building much like this one. The landlord didn’t allow dogs.”

“Hank doodled a dog. A girl with a dog. So there must be more than this,” he said, indicating the file.

She shook her head. “Talk about jumping to wild conclusions.” She picked up the flashlight from where she’d left it lying on the desk, the beam lighting most of the room, and shone it on the single sheet in the file.

“Hank had his own system. He numbered the pages in each file, keeping a running tally. It was his idea of organization. If you look on the back of the file, it shows how many papers are in each file. That way you can tell if anything is missing.”

“Your partner got his office broken into a lot?” Boone quipped.

“It’s the nature of the business,” she said offhandedly.

He turned the folder over. There was a one on the back. One sheet of paper inside. He looked up to see her headed for the door. “Wait a minute, where are you going?”

“Home to bed,” she said, after picking up three file folders from the desk where she’d stacked them earlier.

“That’s all you’re taking? Aren’t you even going to lock the office door?”

“What’s the point?” she said over her shoulder. “If there was anything in here worth stealing, it’s long gone now.”

Taking the McGraw file, he went after her, catching up to her at the stairs. “Look, Ms. West—”

“C.J.” She met his gaze. In the dim light of the naked bulb over the stairs, he noticed her eyes were a rich, warm brown, the same color as his favorite horse. “Yes?”

He realized he’d been staring. At least he had the sense not to voice his thoughts. He doubted she would appreciate her eye color being compared to that of his horse’s hide even if it was his favorite. “You should at least have my phone number, don’t you think?”