Kitabı oku: «Dangerous Legacy»

To my Joe, who will always be looking over my shoulder

as I write. He was an extraordinary gift from God.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

BIBLE VERSE

DEDICATION

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

ONE

“I didn’t expect this kind of assignment so soon.” Flint Crawford raked his fingers through his wavy golden hair and faced his captain. “I just got here. Can’t you at least give me time to get settled?”

The older Arkansas Game and Fish officer was frowning. “Sorry. No. None of my other wardens have been able to get close to locating this bunch of poachers. Your connection with the Morgan woman is invaluable.”

“She hates me,” Flint argued.

“Doesn’t matter. At least she knows you personally. Use that to our advantage. Get back in her good graces and find out where her uncle Elwood is hiding.” Captain Lang tapped the file folder on his desk. “It’ll look good on your record.”

“Or my résumé,” Flint grumbled. “I have to be honest, sir. I don’t like taking advantage of Maggie.”

“Who says you will be? She must be as against poachers as we are. She couldn’t run that wild animal rehab if she wasn’t.”

“I wish I knew how she got involved with the Dodd Sanctuary. The first I’d heard of it was a few weeks ago.”

“It’s been keeping a low profile,” Lang told him. “I get the idea that’s partly your Maggie’s idea, since she’s running it by herself.”

“And it’s funded how?” Flint’s green eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to think of Maggie involved in anything shady, but a lot of time had passed since he last saw her. People could change.

“Abigail Dodd has more money than sense,” Lang said, “and no children. She wants to leave a legacy, so she set up the sanctuary on the old Dodd Farm and hired Ms. Morgan because she knew her.” He chuckled. “Believe you me, Abigail’s close relatives are not pleased. I hear they tried to get her declared incompetent.”

“And failed?”

“Big-time. By the time Maggie got done testifying, there was no way anybody could question the old lady’s sanity.”

“Maggie always did love the underdog and defended against injustices.” Maybe that would make it easier to get her to talk to him. It was his job as a game warden to police the forest and wildlands, making sure no laws were broken and nature was preserved in its natural state. Anybody who was hunting out of season was clearly being unfair, both to other hunters and to the animals.

Sighing in acceptance, he nodded. “Okay. Give me the file on the poaching so I can check for patterns. Is that their only crime?”

Lang handed him a manila folder. “Not by a long shot.”

The colloquial reference to aiming from a distance did not sit well with Flint. Not well at all.

* * *

Wind whipped Maggie Morgan’s long, honey-brown hair across her face as gathering clouds darkened the afternoon. Hurrying, she almost tripped over her enormous dog. “Out of the way, Wolfie. Mama has to finish her chores before the storm gets here.”

If the black-and-brown canine hadn’t bristled and begun to bark, she might not have noticed a familiar pickup truck heading up the long driveway to the sanctuary.

“Oh, hush, dog. You know the game warden. He was here just last week.”

With a friendly wave to her approaching visitor, she went back to hauling armloads of fresh straw bedding. Whatever the guy wanted could wait until she’d tended to her patients’ needs. Helpless animals always came first.

Approaching footsteps crinkled dry leaves behind her while Maggie was bent over spreading loose straw in a lean-to. She glanced through the bottom of the wire fence and saw black boots. “I’m almost done. How come you’re back so soon? Did you bring me another patient?”

The Game and Fish warden cleared his throat. “Hello, Maggie.”

That voice! Momentarily stunned, she froze. A shiver tickled her spine. It couldn’t be him. Yet she knew it was.

The injured doe in the pen with her sensed her sudden nervousness and bolted, running across the enclosure and careening off the fencing.

“Easy, girl, easy.” Maggie straightened and inched her way to the gate, slipping through and fastening it securely while steeling herself to turn and face her visitor. “Flint Crawford.”

“You remember me.”

How could she forget the man who had broken her heart and nearly ruined her life? She stalled by taking a moment to brush off her jeans and the sleeves of her denim jacket before she said, “Vaguely. What are you doing here?”

He spread his arms to display his dark green uniform and badge on an athletic body. “I work in Fulton County now. See?”

“I thought you were in the marines.”

Flint nodded. “Long story. I missed home. Deep roots, I guess.”

I don’t believe a word of it. Maggie gritted her teeth rather than chance speaking. If you had deep roots you’d have stayed here in the first place.

Scattered drops the size of dimes were beginning to dot the dry ground. She extended her hands, palms up. “It’s starting to rain.”

“Can we take cover on the porch?”

“Why?”

“Talk, maybe?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” The longer he lingered, the angrier Maggie grew. At this point she wasn’t positive she could maintain her facade of calm indifference long enough for him to leave. Being in Flint’s presence again was far more difficult than she’d imagined. Where were all the irate speeches she’d rehearsed for the past six years?

Silent, Maggie accompanied him toward his truck, the big dog at her heels. They began to circle the silver-gray pickup. Wolfie stiffened just as a deafening boom of thunder joined a blinding flash!

Everything blurred as Maggie was smacked hard on the shoulder, knocked off her feet and ended up lying in the dirt with Flint hovering over her. Wolfie was growling as he circled them.

She gave Flint a push. “Get off me!”

Instead, he supported himself on one arm and continued to keep her down. That was when she saw he’d drawn his gun. “No! Don’t shoot my dog!”

“Hush,” Flint ordered, getting to his knees. “Keep your head down.”

“What are you babbling about? We almost got hit by lightning.” The expression on his face argued otherwise. “Didn’t we?”

“No. Thunder doesn’t have a high-pitched echo. Whoever aimed at us expected the storm to mask a rifle shot.”

Maggie tensed, blinking rapidly to try to clear her head. He was right! There had been a singing reverberation amid the rumbling noise of the storm.

She reached out for Wolfie, understanding a moment too late that that was a mistake.

The dog bared his fangs, lunged, and latched on to Flint’s pant leg. Maggie screamed. Flint fell back, rolling farther behind the truck as he fought to break free.

Maggie barely registered the crack and whine of a second shot. A side window of the truck shattered. She screamed again and covered her head as glass rained down. Wolfie released his captive and made a beeline for her.

The game warden recovered enough to sit, pulled out a cell phone and called for assistance before turning to Maggie. “Help is on its way.”

“Are you hurt? Did he bite through the skin?”

“Don’t worry about me. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m not used to being a target. Now I know how these poor wild animals must feel.”

As Flint slowly reached toward her, she told herself to move away. Her knees felt welded to the ground.

His warm, strong hand cupped her cheek as scattered drops of rain continued to fall. A thumb brushed away blood. It took her a moment to realize it was hers. She jerked back and patted her face.

“You’re not shot,” Flint said. “I think a sliver of glass may have nicked you.”

“Terrific.”

She sat back on her heels. Flint’s green gaze seemed almost tender. That fit. She’d always viewed him as a caring person, which was why his abandonment had shaken her so badly. Above all, she reasoned, she must keep reminding herself of his desertion.

“We’re about to get soaked,” she said flatly.

“Better wet than dead.” Flint was rubbing his lower leg. “I hope the shooter gave up and left. Thanks to your dog I couldn’t catch a hibernating turtle right now.”

“Serves you right.” A shiver skittered up her spine. “Do you think we’re still in danger? I figure they’re long gone.”

“You’re probably right. They’ve had plenty of time to sneak up on us and finish the job if they wanted to.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” Flint snapped back. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Survival. He was right about that. She patted her pockets. She’d forgotten to bring her cell phone. “How long before we have that help you promised?”

“I don’t know. We’re pretty far out in the country.”

“Then hand me your phone,” Maggie said. “I need to make a call and I left mine inside.” If it had been anyone but Flint, she would have added please.

She saw him hesitate.

“Okay, but keep it short. This is for official use only.”

“Would you rather I made a run for the house to get my own?”

“No. Here.”

Grabbing the phone before he changed his mind, she had to think hard to remember the number that was programmed into her own cell phone.

A tentative “Hello” was all the greeting she allowed before blurting, “Mom?”

“Maggie? I almost didn’t answer. This isn’t your number.”

“No. I’m using a borrowed phone.”

“What happened to yours?

“Never mind that. Please, just listen. I need you to pick up Mark from school and keep him at your place until you hear from me. I’ll explain everything later.”

“But—”

“Please, Mom? This is really important.”

“Okay, honey. But I’ll expect all the details when you come get him. And plan to stay for supper. Bye!”

Sure, assuming I’m able to get rid of my unwelcome visitor by then. Maggie’s fondest hope was that the shooter was attempting to scare the new game warden just on general principle. Given that this particular warden was Flint Crawford, she owed their anonymous assailant a debt of gratitude for trying.

Too bad it hadn’t worked.

* * *

Police and sheriff’s units arrived just ahead of an ambulance. Dressed for the heavier rain that was predicted, Sheriff Harlan Allgood leaned against the fender of the silver-gray Game and Fish truck and shook his head at Flint. “Sorry about this, son. Want me to help you over onto the porch where the medics are working on Maggie?”

“I won’t be welcome. I can hop in the ambulance if this drizzle gets much worse.”

“Suit yourself.” He chuckled. “I didn’t dream you’d run into trouble so soon. Who’d you manage to rile in a day and a half?”

“Beats me.” Flint pulled the leg of his pants up to his knee. “Everybody’s been pretty friendly so far.” He grimaced. “Except for Maggie and her dog.”

“Wolfie’s always been fine around me,” Harlan said. “What’d you do to set him off?”

“He was probably reacting to my knocking her down to keep her from getting shot.”

“I reckon she gave you what for.”

“Oh, yeah. She actually thought I was going to shoot her dog.” Flint peered into the woods. “Any of your people come up with the real shooter yet?”

“Nope, and I don’t expect ’em to. The ol’ boys around these parts are good at disappearin’.”

“Is this the first trouble Maggie’s had?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Yeah, well, she and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“And that surprises you?” Harlan guffawed. “Folks around here still remember when you turned tail and skedaddled.”

Flint refused to let the old-timer goad him. The details of the past were nobody’s business but his and Maggie’s. And speaking of the past, if he hadn’t heard that both her brothers had left to establish successful careers in neighboring states, he might have blamed one of them.

“So, what are you going to do?” Flint asked.

“’Bout what?”

“Finding the shooter, to start with. And then protecting Maggie, just in case she’s a target, too.”

“Don’t know what any of us can do,” Harlan replied with a drawl. “I suppose I can have a deputy cruise by a time or two.”

“Well, somebody’d better keep a lookout. We could have been killed.”

Chuckling, the portly older man stepped away to give the medics room to check Flint’s dog bite. “I doubt that. There ain’t many hunters round here who’d miss unless they meant to. You ask me, those shots were a warning.”

Flint grimaced as a paramedic disinfected his shin and slapped a small bandage on it. Harlan was right. Country boys grew up learning to hit what they were aiming at. Whoever was behind this attack had missed on purpose. If Maggie hadn’t been standing next to him at the time of the shooting, she would have been his chief suspect.

As if his thoughts had drawn her, she spoke from behind them. “Do you need to see proof of Wolfie’s vaccinations, Sheriff?”

Harlan shook his head. “Not unless Flint here wants to check ’em.”

“I trust you,” Flint said. “I’m just surprised you let that dog wander loose where he can bite people.”

Maggie huffed. “I don’t suppose you’d believe he’s hardly ever growled at anybody else in the four years since I rescued him.”

“Honestly?”

“Scout’s honor,” she replied. “He usually barks to tell me someone’s here, but that’s about all.”

Flint swallowed hard. Maybe he should have stayed in Serenity almost six years ago, for Maggie’s sake, but when she’d refused to even consider eloping he’d decided she didn’t truly love him. In retrospect, he’d wondered if she’d simply been defying her parents by dating him in the first place.

As the years had passed, he’d been forced to admit that their teenage romance had been doomed. Perhaps they’d been overly attracted to each other because the relationship was forbidden by both their feuding families. It was certainly a possibility.

And now? Flint studied her closed expression. He and Maggie were very different people. Besides, plenty of gossip had made its way to him since his recent return, and her phone call to her mom had confirmed it. Maggie was a single mother. Clearly, she had moved on and he’d better do the same. Too bad he’d been assigned to renew their acquaintance.

What puzzled Flint was how Captain Lang had learned about their ill-fated romance. Stories about it could have come up when the department had been researching Elwood Witherspoon and his kin, he supposed. There was no way to discuss Witherspoon and his relatives without mentioning their long-standing feud with the Crawfords. And the way Flint had chosen distance as a means of defusing the mounting tension would certainly have come up.

Maggie’s deep-seated anger surprised him, though, particularly since he had yet to broach the subject of her uncle’s whereabouts. Hadn’t she read any of his letters? Didn’t she understand he’d acted in the best interests of them both? Even if she disagreed with his choices, surely she could see things from his perspective.

Flint pushed those thoughts aside. Until the police figured out who had taken a potshot at them, they’d both have to be on guard. He had combat training. Maggie did not. Therefore, since the sheriff wouldn’t take special precautions to protect her, he would have to look into the cause and come up with some answers. Whether she liked it or not. And stay alive in the process.

And speaking of things she was not going to like, he figured he might as well get it over with so he said, “By the way, can you tell me where your uncle Elwood is living these days?”

“What does he have to do with this?”

“Probably nothing. I just need to locate him and have a little talk.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea where he is, nor do I care.”

This was not going to be easy at all.

TWO

Maggie phoned her mother again to make sure Mark was safe, then fidgeted until Flint and the police finally finished their rainy investigating and drove away. If the sun had not set, she wondered if they’d have prowled around even longer.

Combing her long hair more to one side to cover the tiny butterfly bandage on her cheek, she grabbed her purse and headed for her truck. Wolfie leaped in before she finished saying, “Yes, you can go.”

Smiling, Maggie slid behind the wheel and started for town, noting how her fingers didn’t want to hold still. She wasn’t wired because of seeing Flint. No, sir. Being shot at was the problem. It had made her “jumpy as a baby chick at a possum party,” as her daddy used to say.

Harlan hadn’t mentioned any names, but she knew who he probably blamed for the shooting. It hurt to think that the most likely suspect was her own great-uncle, but there was no getting around it. Elwood Witherspoon was a throwback to the days when country people had settled their own quarrels. A lot of old-timers still talked a good fight, but they weren’t serious. Elwood was. He delighted in using history as an excuse to break current laws. Worse, he was teaching his three grandsons to follow in his footsteps.

Maggie grasped the wheel tighter. Even a mean-looking dog was no protection against an enemy with a rifle, kin or not. And if the target happened to be wearing the forest green uniform and badge of a game warden in Elwood’s neck of the woods, he might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on his back.

Since the shooting, she had begun to feel as vulnerable as she had after her testimony at Abigail’s competency hearing. The old woman’s niece and nephew, Missy and Sonny Dodd, had threatened to shut down the sanctuary as soon as they got the chance, and had blamed Maggie for their loss in court.

Now somebody else was threatening her and Flint was involved this time. In a rural place like Serenity, danger could lurk in every shadow, behind every tree. Her agitated state caused her to picture new threats at each twist and turn of the nearly deserted road.

Already wired, Maggie overreacted when headlights gleamed behind her, blinding her with their glare. She accelerated. It didn’t help. The vehicle kept closing the distance between them.

Maggie’s heart began pounding so hard she could count the beats at her temples. Every muscle was taut. The nearer the follower drew, the higher his headlights appeared. It had to be a truck—a lot bigger than hers.

A highway passing lane was coming up. Suppose the other driver’s actions were nothing more than a result of her slower speed and overactive imagination? Maybe if she hit her brakes...

She whispered, “Please, God?” and lightly tapped the brake pedal to flash her stoplights.

The larger truck slammed into her rear bumper and sent Wolfie flying at the dash despite her outthrust arm. Dazed and shaking his huge head, he climbed back onto the seat beside her and licked her cheek.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

Normally she’d pull over and see if there had been any damage to her vehicle, but not this time. Not here where there were no houses or lights. And certainly not after what had happened earlier, at home. She swung into the far right lane as soon as the road divided for easy passing.

“No, no, no!” The lights were coming at her again! Faster than before. She held tight to the wheel with her left hand and grabbed Wolfie’s collar with her right. “Lord, help us!”

As if in answer to the frantic prayer, the headlights swung to her left. Had her panic been for nothing? What a foolish mistake.

Releasing the dog, Maggie put both hands back on the steering wheel. As the other vehicle drew even, she glanced over at it, expecting to see young men, waving beer cans and whooping it up.

There was only the driver. What a surprise. She could tell he’d turned his head to look at her, but it was too dark to make out his features.

“As soon as he passes I’ll get his license plate number so I can report reckless driving,” she told herself, reaching into her purse to feel around for a pen.

In that split second of inattention the other driver swerved. The trucks collided. Metal scraped, bent, squealed.

Maggie fought to stay on the pavement. An inch more to the right and her tires would slip onto the muddy shoulder!

The truck shimmied. Wolfie barked. Maggie did her best to maintain control. It was no use. She hollered, “Hang on, boy,” as the outside wheels edged a fraction too far and carried them off the road with a lurch.

They bent a mile marker post, then bumped and jostled down the rain-slick grass slope and slid diagonally toward a barbed-wire fence at the bottom.

If Maggie tried to steer while sideways on the steep incline, she knew, she would lose control and roll. All she could do was ride it out. And pray.

* * *

Flint was finishing an enjoyable evening meal at the Allgood residence and discussing who might have been behind the shooting at the animal rehab center when the sheriff’s phone rang.

Harlan answered and listened briefly. “Well, what’re you callin’ me for?” Flint saw him begin to scowl. “Okay, okay. I’ll head out there ASAP. Where’d you say it was?”

Flint pushed back from the table. “What’s happened?”

“Single-car accident. A truck skidded off Highway 62 out by the Anderson place.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“The witness didn’t know.”

“Why are you responding? Can’t the highway patrol handle it?”

The sheriff nodded as he buckled his utility belt and checked his gun. “Probably. They’ve been called, too.” He tilted his head at Flint. “You might wanna grab your gear and come along.”

“Why? Was a deer involved?” That kind of collision occurred often during the fall of the year.

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”

Puzzled, Flint pulled his jacket on over his bulletproof vest. “Okay. If you think you need me, I’ll come with you.”

“It ain’t for my sake,” Harlan said as he kissed his wife’s cheek and hurried to the kitchen door. “It’s for yours. The witness says the truck’s from Maggie’s job. Nobody drives it but her.”

* * *

The vehicle that had slammed into Maggie had kept going. As soon as her truck stopped sliding, she turned off the ignition key and unbuckled her seat belt. She and Wolfie were okay. That was the important thing.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she buried her face in her pet’s ruff and silently thanked God, then sat back. “Well, what do you think, Wolfie? Shall we hike up to the road and flag somebody down?”

As Maggie’s random thoughts began to sort themselves out, she realized she had a better way to summon help. She reached for her phone. Her purse wasn’t on the seat anymore. Feeling around on the floor of the cab didn’t help, either.

She tried to shoulder open her door. It was stuck. Thankfully, the passenger side worked. Wolfie cleared her with a bound and began leaping through long, wet grasses and wildflowers like a spring lamb at play.

“Stay with me, boy, while I find my phone.”

Ignoring her, he began to sniff at their surroundings while she stood in the thigh-high grass to explore beneath the seat. Her fingers touched soft leather. Got it! However, as she pulled her purse out she noted that it felt far too light. Half its contents were missing.

“Rats!” She leaned in and patted along the floor mat. The cell phone had to be there. Too bad she didn’t have a flashlight.

Wolfie’s sharp yelp made her jerk. The barrage of angry barking that followed was unmistakable. He was defending her. But from what?

Maggie had held very still when he began to bark. Now she slowly backed out of the truck cab and scanned their surroundings.

Hackles up, her dog was looking past her toward the road. A vehicle was idling on the shoulder of the highway and someone was getting out. She cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted, “Have you called 911?”

The dark figure merely stood there. Wouldn’t an innocent passerby answer? Ask if she was injured?

“Hello? Do you have a phone?”

Flustered, she peered up at the other truck. Not only was it the same size and color as the one that had hit her, but the part of it that she could see looked uneven!

Maggie reached across and clicked off her headlights. Suppose that was no Good Samaritan up there? Suppose it was her unknown enemy? Had he come back to finish the job he’d started?

Frightened, Maggie gave up the search for her missing phone and edged around the front of her truck. Wolfie was already on the opposite side of the barbed-wire fence separating the roadway from a pasture. Climbing back up to the pavement to flag down a passing motorist was out of the question at this point. So, what options were left?

She could stand there until her nemesis decided to make the next move, or she could take matters into her own hands. Undecided, she studied him. She had Wolfie on her side and the other driver had...a gun! The glint of a chromed pistol in his hand was brief but quite enough incentive.

Maggie whirled and raced to the section of fence her dog had shimmied under, dropped onto her stomach and crawled through the way a commando would.

A gruff shout echoed. “You can’t hide.”

That actually helped. She rose to all fours, sprang to her feet and ran, positive she heard someone in pursuit. Wolfie paced her for a few moments before diverting toward the nearest patch of woods.

“Good boy.” Maggie followed, panting. At least one of them was thinking straight.

Forest shadows swallowed her. She slipped on wet leaves beneath the trees, falling and recovering over and over until her energy and adrenaline were spent.

Hands resting on the muddy knees of her jeans, she gasped for breath. Wolfie circled back and licked her face.

Prayer was called for, she knew, but her heart was too dispirited to even try.

Kneeling in the wet leaves she slipped an arm around her dog’s neck and let tears be her unspoken plea.

Nobody knew where she was but God.

And her enemy.

* * *

Flint used his emergency flashers and made better time than the sheriff. Spying a cluster of headlights along the opposite shoulder, he knew this was the accident scene. Maggie had almost made it into town. Why in the world had she run off the road? Was she speeding? Talking or texting? Had she lost focus for some other reason?

None of those ideas made sense. The teenage Maggie he remembered had been conscientious to a fault. Surely her basic nature hadn’t changed that much.

Flint parked in an open spot on his side of the highway so he wouldn’t have to make a U-turn and left his hazard lights on as a warning to passing drivers.