Rough Rider. B.J. Daniels

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       Chapter Four

      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 СКАЧАТЬ