She shifted along his long, solid length. Cooper. Her Cooper. However strong he was, he wasn’t a man of steel. He wasn’t Superman. He was tired and worried and anxious. There were several new lines in his face and they looked permanent. She knew that she was the cause of most of them, but he had never once indicated in any way that he resented her intrusion into his life.
She tried to read her wristwatch in the darkness. She couldn’t see the dial face, but it must have been close to eleven. Ranchers kept healthy hours. She hadn’t had such early bedtimes since she’d been a child.
It was a starless night, the sky blanketed with clouds heavy with the snowstorm all the forecasters were predicting. There was no sound at all outside the house. All the animals had hunkered down in expectation of snow, Cooper had said. She and Cooper could have been the only people in the world.
It was all so utterly unlike Boston. Back home, her street would still be alive with people spilling out of the theaters and cafès at eleven. Life never stopped in the heart of Boston. It went on around the clock. The late-night revelers on their way home would meet the sanitation trucks and the office workers trying to get an early jump on the day.
Outside her backyard here in Simpson was wilderness unbroken for fifty miles.
Such an odd place to find love.
Love. Cooper had said he loved her. She loved him, too. Or at least it certainly felt like love. But surely love required a sense of a future together? Some sense of where they were headed? Julia couldn’t see into her future at all. Every time she tried to get a handle on her life, plan a little, a dark curtain descended in her mind. There was no future for her that she could see, only the now with its terror and with Cooper by her side.
Suddenly, she needed for Cooper to know that she cared. She lifted her head to tell him, but he pressed a finger to her lips.
“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Hey, Davis, Yuletide greetings from the FBI.” The junior assistant’s voice echoed in the empty offices of the Department of Justice.
“It’s Thanksgiving, you dork,” Herbert Davis answered grumpily as he bit into his turkey sandwich. It was 9 p.m. and he was doing overtime. Again. On a major holiday. “Yuletide is Christmas.”
“Whatever,” the assistant answered cheerfully, bending over and depositing a package on his desk. “’Tis the season to be merry.” Davis caught a whiff of too many beers and rolled his eyes. In his day, any hint of drinking on the job would have been enough to get you fired or so severely reprimanded you picked yourself up off the floor.
Well, times changed.
Davis picked up the vacuum-packed, sealed package marked RUSH. He felt through the plastic seal. An audio cassette. He ripped it open, then noticed the time stamp. “Hey!” he yelled at the back of the departing assistant. “This says seventeen hundred hours, November 27th. That’s twenty-four hours ago. It’s marked RUSH. What the—”
The assistant turned and waggled his fingers merrily. “Mail clerks,” he said. “On a go slow. Sorry, gotta run.”
Davis sighed and pulled out the slip of paper in the sealed container. He was tired and out of sorts. Maybe he was coming down with the flu Aaron had caught. Aaron had been home sick for two days now and Davis was feeling the pinch.
He unfurled the FBI message. It took a moment for it to penetrate his tired brain. The FBI had been bugging S.T. Aker’s private phone line on an unrelated drug case and the agent in charge had sent him the tape, thinking he might find it of interest.
Davis walked down the long, empty hall to where the audiovisual equipment was kept and inserted the tape, curiosity getting the better of his tiredness. He’d been doing overtime for too long. For a moment, even the prospect of Thanksgiving with his in-laws seemed better than being here.
He shook himself. He knew better. It was just that he was so tired. Again, Davis wished Aaron hadn’t fallen ill. He pressed “play”.
The sound was a little scratchy, and it took him a minute to realize what was being said and who was saying it. When it clicked, the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He punched the pause button, then rewound.
His finger hovered over the “play” button for a moment, knowing that he would never feel the same way about his job again. He pressed it.
There was the sound of a phone ringing, then an impatient voice. “Yes? Akers here.”
“Mr. Akers?”
“Yes, yes, who is speaking?”
“A friend of yours, Mr. Akers. Or rather, a friend of Dominic Santana’s.”
“I’m listening.”
“I know where Julia Devaux is—”
“Now wait a minute. You know I can’t receive information like this. It would be in total contravention of the law.”
“Well how—”
“But let’s imagine a hypothetical situation. Let’s imagine that I hang up now and put my answering service on. I’ll be out of the room when you leave your message, so I won’t know what’s being said. And let’s imagine—hypothetically speaking, you understand—that I take the tape recorder to visit my client in jail. Let’s further imagine that I had to play another part of the tape for him. I won’t know what’s in your message until it’s already been played and it’s too late. Do you understand me?”
“Sure.”
“Then as soon as I hang up, I’m leaving my office for a quarter of an hour. Will that be enough time?”
“Yeah, it’s just an address. But I want money. I want half the reward. I want $ 3 million—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you have any requests, put them on the tape.”
There was the click of the phone being put down and Davis pushed the off button. He didn’t need to hear any more. He sat with his head bowed, and let the sadness wash through him. There were a million things that needed doing. Time was tight, but he allowed himself this minute of mourning.
The man who’d sold the information on Julia Devaux was going to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He would lose his job, his pension, his friends and his freedom. Breach of security for personal profit carried a mandatory 25-year sentence. The man had already lost his family.
Herbert Davis had just listened to a man commit suicide. And not just any man. His best friend for twenty years.
For the man who had betrayed Julia Devaux to a killer was Aaron Barclay.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Coop, Sally,” Alice said happily. It was late in the afternoon and the first flakes of the snowstorm that had been threatening all day were finally beginning to fall. Cooper put a hand to Julia’s back and stepped over the threshold of the “Out to Lunch”, dread pooling in his gut.
He didn’t like this, not one bit.
“Come on.” An excited Alice tugged at Julia’s hand. “You’ve just got to see how we arranged the vegetable platters, you’ll love it. And Maisie made this amazing sherry bread dressing. To die for.”
God, I hope not, Cooper thought sourly as he relinquished his hold on Julia. He was reluctant to have her out of touching distance, even if it was to follow a chattering Alice into the kitchen. He nodded to Mac, who got up and followed the two women through the swinging doors. Sandy remained where he was, at a window seat, his eyes sweeping the room, then tracking the street outside. Good men, both of them.
Cooper looked around. For the first time that day, he blessed the lousy weather. Very few people he didn’t know had made it in for Thanksgiving. A proudly beaming Glenn sat with Matt at a table near the kitchen. At another table were three Simpson families seated as a party, the Rogers, the Lees and the Munros and two couples Cooper recognized from Rupert, though he didn’t know their names. Then there was an elderly couple he didn’t know stuffing their faces with a selection of Maisie’s desserts, but both were in their seventies, and Cooper managed to fight down the temptation to walk over and ask for identification.
He eyed a man he’d never seen be
fore. He looked like a grad student. Cooper stared unblinkingly at the man. After a few uncomfortable moments, the man looked around and met Sandy’s hard, hostile gaze. The man fidgeted in his chair for a few minutes, put his fork down and got up, searching his pockets for money. A few minutes later, the elderly couple followed him out.
Cooper saw the young blonde girl Julia had been talking to when he’d grabbed Julia and dragged her away by the hair. He wondered if he should walk over to the girl and apologize for his behavior the other day, but then decided against it. The hell with manners.
Cooper whirled, narrow-eyed, at the commotion from the door. He had his hand halfway to the shoulder holster before he realized it was Roy Munro’s boisterous voice congratulating Alice and Maisie. He drew in a long, calming breath.
He’d deliberately timed it so that they would arrive as the last of the customers would be leaving. He felt reasonably sure that there would be no dinner guests. Storm warnings had been going out all day. Only a madman or a fool would venture out in such isolated country during a snowstorm after dark.
Cooper seated himself at the table Alice had reserved for them and waited with resignation for Julia to emerge from the kitchen. He pulled at his shirt collar. The “Out to Lunch” was overheated and he cursed the shoulder holster that forced him to keep his jacket on.
For the thousandth time that day, Cooper regretted his impulsive decision to allow Julia to celebrate Thanksgiving here, even for just an hour.
This was the last time he was going to let her out in a public place before the trial, whenever it was. And then Cooper realized that Christmas was coming. He gave an inward groan. No way could he stop Julia from celebrating Christmas with her friends. Julia struck him as the kind of woman who would consider not celebrating Christmas unconstitutional.
He didn’t give a fuck. His past two Christmases had been normal workdays just like any other.
Horses didn’t observe Sundays or Labor Days or Thanksgivings or Christmases. They needed to be fed and watered and exercised every day, without exception. Cooper had well over twenty-five million dollars in horseflesh at the Double C.
Actually, it was becoming a problem trying to juggle everything. Cooper didn’t know how much longer he could manage. If only he could convince her to stay with him…a slow smile spread across his features, his first in a week.
Oh, yeah. That would solve all his problems. If he could convince Julia to stay over at the ranch, everything would be so much easier. He allowed himself a moment’s daydreaming. She’d make the ranch house less bleak, that was for sure. Maybe he could coax her into doing a little decorating for him, like she’d done for Alice and Beth. Warm the place up. Maybe he could coax her into staying on. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could convince her to make the arrangement permanent…
“Well, it’s sure nice to see you smiling,” Julia said as she slipped into the seat next to him, adjusting her waist pouch. “I was beginning to think those frown lines were tattooed on.”
Alice placed two enormous plates in front of them. “A little bit of everything,” she informed Cooper. “Eat up.” Cooper didn’t recognize most of what was on his plate. Thanksgiving was turkey, yams, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. Period.
But Julia seemed to know what everything was. “Mmm,” she sighed, closing her eyes and breathing in the smells. “Sweet potato soufflé. Corn pudding. Turkey with raspberry coulis. Maisie’s outdone herself.”
Alice fairly wriggled with happiness. “Yeah, she’s great, isn’t she? Try that raspberry sauce. I mean coulis. We had the editor of The Rupert Pioneer in here and he went wild. He said he would do a write-up.” Alice looked around. “But it’s a good thing not that many people made it in today. We haven’t got all the problems ironed out yet. We ordered too many turkeys and not enough vegetables. Also, we’re running out of coffee and pies. Still—” she shrugged her shoulders, “things’ll be on track by Christmas. We’re not doing too badly for beginners.”
Cooper dug in, though he had no appetite whatsoever. He chewed slowly, then with more interest. No, they weren’t doing too badly at all. He had two full bites before his pleasure ended abruptly.
His cell phone rang. When he looked at the display, he froze. It was Davis’ number.
Bad things were coming.
Julia watched Cooper eat, secretly amused. Cooper obviously liked good food and he had just as obviously not had too much of it in his life. He thought she was a great cook. She wasn’t bad, but nothing like in Maisie’s league. She took a bite of Maisie’s stuffing and tried not to close her eyes in delight.
She’d been right to come. She needed this. Cooper needed this, too. A moment out of time.
Cooper needed a little relaxation. She knew—though he hadn’t said a word—that he was neglecting his work. He was turning himself inside out, trying to keep up the ranch and look after her.
Maybe she should offer to stay out at the ranch with him.
Though the idea would have horrified her only a short while ago, now it held a crazy sort of appeal. She could try her hand at redecorating his Addams family house, have fun rattling around his seven-acre kitchen, watch those beautiful horses being put through their paces.
But most of all, she’d have more time with Cooper. She could imagine them in the evenings, cuddled up around the hearth. There were probably hundreds of fireplaces in his house and they could try making love in front of each one.
Julia put another delicious bite in her mouth, fantasizing about fireplaces and Cooper when she started. “What’s that?” she asked.
Cooper put down his fork and reached into his pants pocket for his cellular phone. His jacket shifted and Julia caught sight of something dull gray and metallic under his armpit. He flipped the phone open and frowned when he looked at the display.
“Cooper.”
He listened, his hand white on the phone. Julia watched with growing dread as he clenched his jaw. His eyes went hard and opaque.
“Cooper,” she said softly. He turned his head to her, but he looked right through her. She could hear the tinny sound of someone talking in the receiver but couldn’t make out any words. Cooper shifted the phone into his left hand and reached across with his right and withdrew a gun from his left side. “Cooper?” she whispered, scared now.
He cut off the connection, his face tight. “Sandy,” he said. His voice was low but the answer came immediately.
“Yo.”
“Mac.”
“Yeah.”
“Bernie.”
“Yeah.”
“Chuck. It’s on.” Chuck got up and disappeared into the swirling darkness.
Sandy, Bernie and Mac took one look at Cooper’s face and came over.
“Bernie.” Cooper pulled two magazines of bullets from a jacket pocket. “Get the Springfield and the .38 from the pickup. Make sure you have plenty of ammo.”
“Cooper.” Julia tugged at Cooper’s jacket. Her hand was trembling. “Tell me what’s going on, for God’s sake. What happened? Who was that on the phone?”
Cooper turned to her. “That was Herbert Davis,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “Santana found out where you are twenty-four hours ago. His men are probably already here.”
Everything seemed to happen all at once.
Chuck burst in, shaking the snow off his sheepskin jacket, carrying what looked like an arsenal. Bernie went out for a moment and came back in carrying several weapons, looking grim.
It was all happening so fast. Julia reached out a hand for Cooper, but he was already halfway across the room, talking to Glenn. Julia watched him for a moment, as if he were a stranger. The men had formed a ring around him and he was addressing them in a low voice.
“Sally?” Mary Ferguson’s frightened voice made her turn around. “Sally, what’s going on? What’s all the commotion about?” Mary was white-faced and trembling. Julia put an arm around her. “It’s a long story, Mary, and not a very pleasant one. I’m so sorry you’re
caught in the middle of it.” Over Mary’s shoulder Julia could see Maisie come out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She went over immediately to Glenn.
“Sally?” Alice had followed Maisie out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Julia turned to Alice. She reached out and patted Alice’s shoulder reassuringly, though she herself felt anything but reassured. “It’s okay, honey.”
“It’s not okay.” Cooper’s deep voice from behind her made her jump. “Alice, there are some men on their way to Simpson. They’re hired killers and they’re out to get…” He hesitated a moment.
“Julia.” She took a deep breath. What was the point of keeping secrets anymore? “Alice, my real name isn’t Sally Andersen. It’s Julia. Julia Devaux. And those men are after me.”
“Are they now?” Alice said calmly. “Well, they’re not going to get you. You can take that to the bank and use it as collateral.” Alice looked up at Cooper. “Coop, what do you want us to do?”
Cooper looked around the refurbished café, taking in all the details. His features were pulled tight with tension but his voice was as calm as Alice’s. I guess Westerners don’t have panic genes, Julia thought.
“Okay,” Cooper said, “here’s the drill. I want you to lock all the doors and dim the lights. Keep everyone in the center, away from the windows. Clear away all breakables. Anything that’s glass or ceramic or pottery. The last thing we need is people getting cut. I’m leaving Bernie, Sandy and Mac here and—”
“And me.” Glenn stood straight under Cooper’s scrutiny. “I can handle a gun, Coop. You know I can. You can count on me. We’re in this together.”
“Yeah,” Loren echoed.
Cooper just nodded his head. “Right. Get a weapon from Chuck. Post yourself by the back door and Bernie will be by the front door. Sandy and Mac will cover the windows. I don’t expect any trouble here, they’ll be gunning for Julia at her house, but you never know.”