Midnight Cowboy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Copyright

  Jack Starett grasped her wrist, fighting to keep his grip gentle…

  Somehow he managed to keep the emotion tearing through him out of his voice. The scar on her wrist…so help him, it looked like…“Looks like something mean took a bite out of you. How’d it happen?”

  “I was young,” Andrea said. “I can’t—er—don’t remember.”

  Didn’t or couldn’t? Jack cautioned himself against the excitement he felt stirring in his gut. Was his obsession with a long-lost little girl working overtime?

  She chuckled nervously. “May I please have my bracelet back?”

  Very casually, Jack said, “Sure.” As he returned the jewelry, his gaze landed on her mouth, and the urge to kiss her jarred him. But it was her, all right. The woman he’d been tracking for years. The woman who—as a child—had witnessed a murder.

  Dear Reader,

  When a woman’s alone, who can she trust, where can she run…? Straight into the arms of HER PROTECTOR. Because when danger lurks around every corner, there’s only one place you’re safe—in the strong, sheltering arms of the man who loves you.

  In this exciting new promotion, you’ll meet women in jeopardy and in love—with the only person who can keep them safe.

  Adrianne Lee brings you the debut book in the HER PROTECTOR series—Midnight Cowboy.

  Adrianne Lee, a native of Washington State, is married to her high school sweetheart. Her hobbies include driving her 1937 Chevy sedan, “Smokin’“ (from Jim Carrey’s movie The Mask), to hot-rod events in the Northwest. This is her second Intrigue. She is currently working on a third. She loves hearing from readers. Reach h at P.O. Box 158, Cle Elum, WA 98922.

  Look for all the books in the HER PROTECTOR series!

  Regards,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coodinator Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street, Sixth Floor

  New York, New York 10017

  Midnight Cowboy

  Adrianne Lee

  For the girls who have made and continue to make my life

  richer everyday: Kim and Karin and Krissa. Brandi and

  Savannah. Judy and Mary Alice and Nadine.

  Special thanks to Mary Birdsill of Madison County

  Sheriffs Department, Virginia City, Montana.

  Jerry Brown & Larry Jensen—Maple Valley Fire

  Department. (King County Fire Department #43.)

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Andrea Hart—What she doesn’t know could get her killed.

  Jack Starett, Jr.—Reporter? Cowboy? Or liar?

  Nightmare Man—His deeds are guaranteed to haunt dreams.

  Wallingford Lester—The editor of the Butte Sun believes in getting the story at all costs.

  Minna Kroft—Is she a man in drag?

  Red Yager—The owner of the Golden Broom Hotel has a penchant for lethal pets.

  Duke Plummer—Museum curator, he knows more about the past than he’s telling.

  Eugene (Gene) Mott—Does this famous author of horror write from imagination or from experience?

  Cliff Mott—How far will Gene’s nephew go to protect his meal ticket?

  Virgil Cooper—This photographer took a picture to die for.

  Prologue

  “Leandra has suffered a terrible shock, Mrs. Woodworth.” The lady psychiatrist spoke just above a whisper. “No five-year-old should have to go through what that poor child has in the past three days. Watching her parents murdered. Almost being murdered herself.”

  Eloise Woodworth felt ten years older than her fifty one years as she glanced at her granddaughter, who was sleeping on the hospital bed across the room. Her gaze fell on the bandages covering the little girl’s left wrist. The doctor said the three gashes weren’t infected, but they would leave an unsightly scar.

  It was the scars that couldn’t be seen that worried Eloise. “Will she recover?”

  The doctor’s expression grew kindly. “Right now, hysterical amnesia is keeping Leandra from recalling the face of the murderer.”

  The knot in Eloise’s stomach tightened. “Are you saying she might remember at any time who her Nightmare Man is?”

  The doctor paused. “It’s a possibility we should anticipate.”

  “But he knows she can identify him.”

  “Yes, and that’s why the police are just outside this room. But Leandra can’t stay here forever. Have you thought of how you’ll protect her when she’s released?”

  Grief over the loss of her precious son and daughter-in-law and fear for Lee Lee had controlled her mind and body for the past few days. She hadn’t thought at all. Only wandered through each day in a numbed haze. But this doctor was right. She must consider the safety of her granddaughter. “I guess I haven’t. I’m not a wealthy woman. I can’t afford round-the-clock bodyguards, and the police aren’t going to go on protecting us forever, are they?”

  The doctor shook her head.

  “I guess I have some thinking to do.”

  The doctor left, and Eloise moved to the bed. Lee Lee’s dark brown hair spilled across the pillow in chocolate ribbons. Her eyes were closed, their dark lashes lacy against cheeks as pale as the sheets on which she lay. Eloise brushed a loving hand tenderly across the child’s forehead.

  Lee Lee was all she had now. She was all Lee Lee had. Somehow she had to insure the little girl’s continued well-being. Somehow the police had to solve this case quickly.

  And if they didn’t?

  She shuddered at the awful possibility. The sound of the door opening behind her brought her jerking around. A stranger, a lanky man with stringy blond hair, stood in the doorway. He wore a wrinkled brown suit with an orange-and-white-polka-dot tie. “Who are you?”

  The stranger stepped into the room.

  Automatically Eloise moved in front of the bed, shielding Lee Lee. “Where’s Officer Rawlins?”

  “Don’t worry, granny. I’m harmless.”

  The stranger grinned, a lousy lopsided smile that Eloise assumed was meant to disarm her. It raised the hackles on her neck and sent a bolt of terror through her. “Where is Officer Rawlins?”

  “Rawlins has been out there for hours.” The man walked toward her. “All that coffee, well, a man has to take an occasional break. I told him I’d stand guard while he relieved himself.”

  Eloise’s nostrils flared with fear. Was this the man who’d killed her son and daughter-in-law? The man little Lee Lee called Nightmare Man? Her pulse accelerated. She groped behind her for the buzzer to alert the nurse’s station. It eluded her. Instead, she wheeled around and grabbed her purse, quickly reaching inside for the Beretta. “If Rawlins left you on guard, what are you doing in here?”

  “I just wanted to ask the little girl a couple of questions.” He produced a camera from his suit pocket and raised it at her, snapping a shot off. The bright flash of light blinded Eloise.

  Blinking, she pulled the gun from her purse and waved it at him. “Get out!”

  “Hey, do
n’t shoot me. I’m a reporter.” The stringyhaired man reared back, his hands raised in protest. “Moses Arlington with the Missoula Sentinel.”

  “I don’t care if you’re with the New York Timesif you don’t get yourself out of this room within two seconds I’m going to blow a hole through you the size of the Conrey mine.”

  “Hey, hang on, granny. I don’t mean any harm. I just want an interview.”

  “Now.” Eloise took a step toward him.

  With his eyes wide and his face ashen, Moses backed toward the door. “Okay, granny. Your point is taken. I’m leaving. Don’t shoot.”

  The door swung open and shut. Eloise’s chest heaved and her hands began to tremble. She waited four seconds, then hurried to the door and peered into the hall. Moses Arlington was disappearing into an elevator. There was no sign of Officer Rawlins. Fury swept her. Damned police. Promised Lee Lee would have round-the-clock protection. Some protection.

  Eloise understood now that she was the only one committed to keeping her granddaughter safe. The task would require some drastic measures, sacrifices such as she’d never before made in her life. But she’d learned something vital these past days: nothing was as important as loved ones.

  Material goods could be replaced. Lee Lee could not.

  She hurried to the bed and scooped up the sleeping child. Even though she’d been bathed, a hint of smoke clung to Lee Lee. Rawlins had not returned. Eloise wrapped her tightly in the hospital blanket, carried her down the deserted hall to the stairs and out to the parking lot.

  So much for security.

  The moon was as full as a supper plate overhead. “Montana fool’s moon,” she muttered as she hastened to her trusty white Lincoln, the one luxury she’d ever indulged herself in. “Pray God, we’re leaving the fools behind.”

  Safely inside the car’s spacious confines, she settled Lee Lee on the aged leather seat beside her. After making certain no one was following, she drove out of Butte and onto Interstate 90, heading for the Idaho border.

  Beside her, the little girl moaned as though from a bad dream.

  Eloise caressed her cheek. “Don’t you worry, my precious Lee Lee. Gram’s making certain Nightmare Man will never find you.”

  Chapter One

  Something more sinister than one of Montana’s freak May snowstorms was brewing this lousy afternoon. Jack Starett, Jr., knew it the minute he saw his ex-boss, Wallingford Lester, the editor of the Butte Sun, driving up the lane to his ranch house. Trouble. In capital letters.

  If he had a brain in his head, he wouldn’t open the door to the man. Arguing with himself over this matter, Jack watched Wally hunch his shoulders and make for the stoop. Wind whined through the cottonwood trees, battering against him, riffling his thick grayed crew cut and whipping his unbuttoned overcoat away from his stocky body like a flapping flag.

  Deciding it wouldn’t be neighborly to ignore Wally’s frantic knocking, Jack yanked the door open, then filled its frame. At thirty-three he presented an imposing figure, an attribute he considered an asset and often used to advantage. His gaze riveted on the manila envelope Wally held to his chest like a shield.

  Clutching his coat together and effectively covering the envelope, Wally, a devout flatterer, grinned at him. Jack braced himself for the outrageous compliment that was sure to follow. Wally didn’t disappoint. “I declare, Starett, you’re a sinfully handsome devil, even in overalls and a ratty flannel shirt.”

  Jack gave his unkempt black hair an impatient rake with his long fingers, then scrubbed his whiskered jaw. “Yeah, like a green-eyed grizzly. Save the bull, Wally. Cut to the chase, I’m mighty busy.”

  Wally’s expression grew stony. “Surely you can spare me a few minutes?”

  As curious as Jack was about what had brought Wally here unannounced, he was more anxious about the problems he already knew. His gaze skipped to the black afternoon sky, to the pastures spread down the knoll, to his restless cattle. It was biting cold out there. They could lose a good number of new calves, a loss Starett Ranch could ill afford. Their restaurants had taken a beating during this recent recession. “Max is expecting me out in the north field, but you’re welcome to come in and wait until I get back. Stick around for dinner.”

  “Your brother-in-law has run this ranch a good long while on his own.” There was an uncommon acerbic bite to Wally’s tone. He shrugged deeper into his overcoat. “He’ll manage a few minutes more. It’s important.”

  That much Jack had already guessed. Wally wouldn’t be here otherwise. Sure he was going to regret it, Jack said, “All right. Come in.”

  He shut the door on the wind, strode toward the open-beamed living room with its quarry rock fireplace and motioned toward a chair, but Wally shook his head.

  From behind the closed kitchen door beyond came the sounds of Ruth Starett, Jack’s mother, and Jonna, his older sister—Max’s wife—humming softly as they prepared dinner. The aromas of baking bread and roasting pork scented the air.

  “In the den.” Wally spoke low.

  “Okay.” Jack’s frown deepened and a bad feeling swept him as he led Wally to the den, where until recently Jack had plotted and honed his obsession with finding the man who’d murdered his father, Jack Starett, Sr. Since his eighteenth birthday he’d used the den as a plot room, filled with every scrap of information he’d thought pertinent. He’d been obsessed with finding and bringing the man to justice, but, although he’d turned into one of the best investigative reporters in the country—as his father had been before him—he’d never found the man he sought.

  Thank God he’d walked away when he had—before the obsession consumed any more of his life. He closed the door, shutting off the homey sounds of the women in the kitchen.

  His ex-boss looked taken aback by the changes in the den.

  “What’s the matter, Wally? I thought you’d approve of the redecorating.” He’d turned the den into a reflection of the good things in his and Jack senior’s investigative reporting days. Photographs and news clippings, prized periods of both men’s careers, adorned the walls.

  “Nice, Junior. Nice.” Wally’s gaze settled on the dry sink, on the liquor bottles lined up on it like soldiers awaiting instructions. “I’ll have Black Velvet. You’d better fix yourself some, too.”

  Strictly to be courteous, Jack complied, and a moment later handed a tumbler to the editor, who now sat in one of the wingback leather chairs facing Jack’s desk. He’d removed his overcoat and the envelope was once again in evidence, this time on his lap.

  Jack carried his own drink to the other side of the desk and dropped into the castered chair that had long ago molded itself to his contours. He couldn’t get comfortable. Prickles, starting at the base of his spine, inched upward. More than likely the storm. Still…Wally seemed excited in the same way he always had been when a good story was breaking.

  There’d been a time when that was all Jack needed to see to get excited, too. That was no longer the case. He had other concerns. His gaze swept to the window. The clouds seemed heavier. He had to get to Max. “I’m telling you right now, Wally, this better be damned important.”

  “It is, it is. You remember the Karen Bradley case?”

  “Of course I do.” He’d thought for sure Karen had been another of his killer’s victims. But he’d been out of town at the time on another story, a couple of Olympic ice skaters run amuck. By the time he’d returned, the trail had grown cold, and an ornery police lieutenant had blocked everything he’d tried learning on his own time about the case. He sure as blazes didn’t want to hear about it now. “Karen Bradley is old news. The police have arrested Gus Dillard for her murder. In fact, he’s probably going to trial soon.”

  “Strange you should mention the trial.” Wally’s thick fingers curled the edge of the manila envelope on his lap. “Last Wednesday a police detective paid me a visit. The subject of her concern was the impending trial of Gus Dillard. She claims the man’s been railroaded, that there are inconsisten
cies in the police investigation being overlooked in lieu of a speedy conviction.”

  “In other words, Gus Dillard is being allowed to slip through the cracks.” Jack’s boot tapped the floor in tune to the beat of the wind and the impatience stirring his blood. “It happens, Wally.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.” Wally pushed his glass onto the desk and placed the manila envelope beside it. “However, that alone wouldn’t have brought me here.”

  Jack stared at the envelope. There was only one reason Wally would want to talk to him about the Karen Bradley case. He tossed back a swallow of whiskey. It burned a path to his belly. “This isn’t just about Gus Dillard, is it?”

  Wally grinned. “I’ve always said you were the smartest of the smartest, Junior.”

  “I ought to throw you out of here right now!” Jack snapped. “For the past fifteen years you’ve hounded me to let go of my obsession with Dad’s murderer. News flash—I have. Accept it, deal with it.”

  Wally shook his head. “No chance, son. This is one story I can’t ignore, and you’re the one reporter who can pull it off.”

  “Wally, I quit. Remember? I’m not a reporter anymore, I’m a rancher.”

  “We’ll see if you still feel that way after you know what I know.”

  Wally knew his weaknesses too well. Despite his fear of the obsession, Jack could not deny interest. He tensed, struggling against it. He had too much to lose, had already lost too much. They stared at one another for a long count, ticked off by the moaning wind. Finally Jack asked, “What do you know, Wally?”

  Wally petted the envelope as if it were a kitten.

  Jack’s mouth was dry. “Have you found Leandra Woodworth?” It was probably too much to hope that the little girl who’d escaped the house fire in which both her parents had perished might actually turn up.