Hard Rustler. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ booting the two of them, but there was something about her.

      She’d flirted with him but refused to tell him who she was, as if she thought he’d call her daddy to have her picked up and taken home. A few minutes with her and that was the last thing he planned to do.

      “Okay, you want to play it coy? You’ll just be my Baby Doll, then,” he’d said, knowing even then that he had to have her.

      “Baby Doll? I like that,” she’d said, coming off older than she was. She hadn’t been more than seventeen. Jailbait. Like that had stopped him. He had a reputation for going after whatever he wanted—and getting it. But then, so did Baby Doll as it turned out.

      Opening the scissors, he began to slice the paper around her mug shot. Bernie couldn’t stand sloppiness. He liked things done a certain way. It had saved his life more than once and kept him from being behind bars.

      Now he found himself looking into her eyes, remembering. This was her. There was no doubt about it. He’d thought he found her before, but this time... He wished he had been able to find a photograph of her when she was younger but there was nothing on the internet. Francesca Marie Clementine had kept a low profile. Another reason he was convinced that this woman was his Baby Doll.

      Oh, those blue eyes. The memories of her in his arms. Just being with her had felt like living on the edge, she’d been that kind of woman. She kept his blood revved up. He’d known he could never get enough of her. He’d asked her to marry him more times than he liked to remember. He shook his head. While he’d only known her a short while, he’d thought he could trust her with his life, his secrets—and his loot. His first mistake.

      That was the problem, wasn’t it? he thought as he clipped the photo free from the newspaper. He’d trusted a woman who hadn’t even trusted him enough to tell him her real name.

      “Come on, Baby Doll, tell me your name,” he used to tease her. “We can’t get married until I know exactly who you are.”

      “Oh, you know who I am.” She’d smiled that coy smile of hers and said, “I’m Bernie McDougal’s Baby Doll. That’s enough. For now.” Her look had been a promise of a lot more to come and he’d been a goner. Oh, the swanky parties they’d attended, the fur coats and fancy dresses he’d clothed her in, the expensive champagne they’d guzzled, the money they’d burned through. Nothing was too good for his Baby Doll.

      His stomach roiled at the memory. She’d blindsided him from the beginning, he thought, able to admit it now, more than fifty years later. He’d thought she was young and naïve. He’d never seen it coming.

      The obit was short, but it did provide some useful information, such as where she’d been all these years—and that she was survived by her three granddaughters, Annabelle Clementine, Tessa Jane Clementine (TJ St. Clair) and Chloe Clementine. No husband. That didn’t surprise him.

      He’d had to look up the town on the internet. Whitehorse, Montana. It surprised him that she’d disappeared to some wide spot out West. He’d always thought of her living it up in Paris or London, or even New York City where it had all begun. It was why he’d looked for her in the faces of every woman he’d passed all these years.

      But Baby Doll had always been full of surprises, hadn’t she? He still couldn’t believe that she’d evaded him. He’d had his men looking for her as well as his associates. He’d put a price on her pretty head. And still nothing. It was as if she’d stepped off the face of the earth.

      But he’d finally found her. The problem was, it seemed too late. She was dead. Which meant that she’d probably taken their secret to the grave. It filled him with regret. He would have loved to look into her eyes one last time before he killed her.

      He took her photo, stuck a pin between her eyes and put it up on the bulletin board next to his desk. As he started to throw the rest of the newspaper away, his gaze lit on the name Clementine again.

      It appeared to be a real estate ad. Moving the paper where he could see the ad, he saw that it read Clementine Place. His breath came out on a laugh. Of course. She’d owned a house and now it was for sale. A house where she’d kept her secrets. He told himself not to get his hopes up, and yet he was reaching for his phone since it was still early out in Montana.

      Francesca’s house was for sale? Why hadn’t he thought of that? There were some things she wouldn’t have been able to take with her. That is, if she’d still had them when she’d died. She could have gone through everything a long time ago. Probably had. But there was only one way to find out.

      He dialed the number of the Realtor who was selling the house. The newspaper was a week old. The house could have sold by now.

      A woman named Mary Sue Linton answered on the third ring.

      “I’m calling about a house you have for sale,” he said. “I believe it’s called Clementine Place?”

      “That’s right. It just went on the market. What can I tell you about it?”

      He had the photo of the house in front of him. But he couldn’t imagine Baby Doll living somewhere like that. It was too common after the penthouse they’d shared. It all came down to that one question that had niggled at him all these years. Why? Why take off like she had—let alone end up where she had? Which led to his second big question. What had she done with what she’d stolen from him?

      “I’d like to send someone to look at it in the next few days,” he said. “Is that possible?”

      “It’s not quite ready to show.”

      Really? “I don’t care what kind of shape it’s in.”

      “One of the relatives is in the process of cleaning everything out. I’m afraid Frannie was a...collector.” Yes, she’d collected a few things from him before she’d left. “But the house will be pristine in a few weeks if you’d like to see it then.”

      Frannie? “You say a relative is cleaning it out?”

      “Her granddaughter, Annabelle.”

      His old heart thumped hard against his ribs. What if she’d already thrown it out? She had to be stopped. “Then I’ll check back with you.”

      “That would be ideal.”

      He hung up and made a call. “I need to see you. Now.”

      Oh, Baby Doll, he said to himself as he disconnected. The woman had thought she’d outfoxed him. Soon she would be turning over in her grave. As for her granddaughter, she could be joining Frannie very soon.

       Chapter Three

      Dawson hadn’t driven by the old Clementine place in years. After he’d cleaned up, he’d driven into town since there was still some daylight left in the winter day and his brother had called wanting to hear about his hunting trip. He’d told himself he wasn’t going near Annabelle’s grandmother’s house, but it was as if his pickup had a mind of its own.

      There was a time that this neighborhood had been his second home. That was back when his best friend lived two doors down from Frannie Clementine’s house. Back when he and his best friend had built a tree house only to find five-year-old СКАЧАТЬ