Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe

“Beautiful.”

“Wyatt never forgot what you did for him, Jesse. In his will, he specifically requested that this gun be given to you.”

She opened the case. Afternoon sunlight glistened on the silver barrel of the pearl-handled, antique Colt .45.

Jesse lifted the gun from the case, balancing it easily in his right hand. “I’ll treasure this gift as much as I appreciate the memory of the good man who wanted me to have it.”

A gust of wind kicked up, and she imagined Wyatt’s spirit watching over them, approving of this moment between her and Jesse Longbridge.

He made his way closer to the small graveyard, circling a boulder that stood in the path. Abruptly, he came to a halt. His body tensed.

“What is it?” she asked.

He returned to her and placed the gun back in the case. “Go back to the house, Fiona. Get Burke and tell him to meet me here.”

Though she trusted Jesse’s judgment, she wouldn’t allow herself to be brushed aside like a child. “You saw something.”

“Let me save you from this nightmare.” He positioned his body to block her view and held her arm, keeping her from going any farther on the path.

“I need to know.”

“There is a dead man on the other side of this boulder. He’s been murdered, and the coyotes have gotten to him.”

She froze. Her blood ran cold. A dead, mutilated body. Here. Only a few steps away from her front door.

Chapter Five (#ulink_43aafd96-52b9-5d5a-8563-c496719b29f4)

Jesse clearly remembered the interior of the Carlisle ranch house from when he’d been here before. Generous-size rooms. Rustic but not old-fashioned. He sank into a chair on the far side of the dining-room table, mindful of the need to protect his injured shoulder from being accidentally bumped. Under the dressings that covered his wound, his skin felt damp, and he hoped it was only sweat, not blood oozing from the stitches. The pain had subsided to a dull throb. Though tempted to take another painkiller, he kept the amber vial in his pocket. He needed to be alert.

His job as a bodyguard was mainly reactive. He saw a threat and took action to stop it. His preparation consisted of briefings on possible enemies and memorizing dozens of photographs so he could scan a crowd and pick out those individuals who might pose a risk. His powers of observation were pretty good; he could tell the difference between a man reaching for a gun and a casual gesture.

When it came to his work, he was confident. In any situation—from a black-tie diplomatic reception to a ski slope in Aspen—he could assess the possible points of attack and take steps to avoid them. He and the men who worked for him at his Denver headquarters were expert marksmen, capable with a handgun or a sniper rifle. They were skilled drivers, knew hand-to-hand combat maneuvers and crowd control techniques.

But Jesse wasn’t a detective. He left the crime solving to others…until now. This situation would tax a different section of his brain.

Burke had brought him to the Carlisle ranch house to look at mug shots. Hopefully, Jesse could identify the men who had shot him and grabbed Nicole. As for the dead man on Fiona’s property, he couldn’t tell if he’d seen that person before. Half of his face had been gnawed off by indigenous scavengers, like coyotes and mountain lions.

Fiona fidgeted behind the chair at the head of the table, too agitated to sit. She’d asked to come along, preferring not to be at her house while it was being processed by the Delta County Sheriff’s Department. Her voice was low and worried. “What if Abby had found the body? What if she’d run down the hill, playing a game with her imaginary pony, and stumbled over a dead man?”

“It didn’t happen that way,” he said.

“You’re right. No need to borrow trouble when I’ve got plenty of my own problems.” She rested her palms on the tabletop leaned toward him, staring intently. “How are you doing?”

What the hell was she up to? “Is there a reason you’re right up in my face?”

“I’m checking your eyeballs for dilation.”

“Don’t.” He wasn’t her patient. “I’m fine.”

Looking down, he glided his fingers on the surface of the table. Someone had recently dusted and cleaned. Underlying the lemony scent of furniture polish was another fragrance. Coffee! Though he hadn’t eaten solid food in three days, he wasn’t really hungry. But he deeply craved a rich dose of caffeine.

A tall, slim woman with black hair charged into the room. She held out her hand to him. “I’m Carolyn Carlisle.”

“I know.” He shook her hand, remembering that she was the first person who had gotten to him after he was shot. “You tried to stop my bleeding. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who deserves thanks,” she said. “You risked your life to help my family. You’re a hero, Jesse. If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask.”

“A cup of coffee,” he said. “Black.”

“I’ll get it,” Fiona said. She darted toward the kitchen.

Burke strode into the dining room and placed a laptop computer on the table. Though he only briefly glanced toward Carolyn, Jesse recognized the look of love in his eyes.

“Just a few hours ago,” Burke said, “this dining room was command central for the kidnapping. There were banks of computers and dozens of agents.”

“Why was the search called off?” Jesse asked.

“We had accomplished our secondary objective,” Agent Burke explained. “The survivalist group, known as the Sons of Freedom or SOF, rented the Circle M. Computer forensics showed they were linked to a smuggling operation. Guns and drugs. Additionally, their leader is suspected of murder. We’ve arrested the perpetrators, and relocated the witnesses into protective custody.”

“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?”