Running Blind Read online

  Okay, maybe she was genuine. Maybe she truly cared about Zeke. Libby wasn’t completely convinced, but she had to take into account that the men here weren’t fools, and they all seemed to really like the girl, and she appeared to like them as well. Maybe Zeke Decker had once again somehow twisted and mauled circumstances until they gave him exactly what he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  IT WAS TIME. It was past time. Zeke had held off on taking this step for weeks, even though he knew he didn’t have any choice. If he kept his promise to Carlin, if he didn’t try to help her, she’d move on in a few weeks and be no better off than she’d been when she’d arrived in Battle Ridge. If he could convince her to stay it would be a different matter. He’d do everything he could to protect her, but damn it all to hell and back, he couldn’t protect her if she wasn’t fucking here.

  If he could help her she’d hate him—but she’d be safe, and that was the most important thing.

  A second trip to town in as many days was unusual, but he didn’t want Carlin or Libby or anyone else on his heels when he walked into the sheriff’s auxiliary office, a sterile, boxy, newish building not far from the grocery store. He was in luck. Billy Nelson was working the Battle Ridge office today. He and Billy had gone to school together, and the deputy could be trusted to keep his word—and to keep his mouth shut, if that was asked of him.

  Zeke asked for privacy, and they went into a small room and closed the door. If the receptionist at the front desk thought it was strange, she didn’t let it show. She had her hands full with paperwork of some sort, files and folders and an ancient-looking computer.

  He and Billy sat in matching uncomfortable chairs, and after asking for discretion—which Billy promised—Zeke told everything he knew about Carlin’s past: Brad, Jina, Dallas, a nameless small town on the outskirts of Houston. He mentioned that Brad was a hacker as well as a cop, and apparently a very talented one, and asked Billy to keep any inquiries to the telephone or snail mail.

  Zeke hadn’t been sure what kind of reception he’d get, but Billy took the news seriously enough.

  “I’ll be hampered by not using the computer, but I’ll see what I can do. Until then …” Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I have a cousin in Cheyenne who’s a private investigator. Maybe he’ll be able to do things I can’t.”

  “Such as?” Zeke asked as he watched Billy scrawl a name and phone number on the back of his own card.

  “There’s not a lot I can do if you don’t file a report, and a report will have to be official. If this guy is a cop, and a hacker to boot, I don’t see how we could keep it a secret from him. Battle Ridge is a small town. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding Carly. I’d be surprised if there are three people on main street who wouldn’t recognize her picture.”

  Zeke took the card, wondering if he was doing the right thing, knowing that he had to do something. He’d call the PI from his cell. Even if Brad somehow found out that a private investigator in Cheyenne was looking into him—and Carlin—investigations originating in the larger city wouldn’t lead him straight to the Decker Ranch. Zeke decided, before he called, to warn the PI and also to make sure there was no personal information stored on that end that might lead Brad to Battle Ridge.

  He hated to lie to Carlin, hated it more than he’d thought he would, but he knew if he told her what he’d done she’d be gone by morning. She’d saved plenty of money in her time working for him and Kat, so she had the means to just pick up and go.

  Because he didn’t want her to go, he’d keep his latest actions a secret, for now. With any luck, he’d find out that Brad was dead or in jail, no longer a danger to Carlin or anyone else. But until he got lucky, he’d have to lie to her—lying by omission, but still, she’d consider it a lie and so would he, if the tables were turned.

  His promise, though, had come with a qualifier: for now. That time had passed and he knew in his gut that he couldn’t wait any longer. She likely wouldn’t think that was sufficient reason for him to make a move without consulting her, but he damn sure did.

  A part of him wanted to call Brad himself, to hunt the bastard down and issue a challenge—Come and get her, motherfucker, try to get through me. But this wasn’t the Old West and, unfortunately, “He needed killin’ ” was no longer an acceptable defense.

  At the very least, he could see the son of a bitch in jail. Somehow, some way, there was evidence that would convict him of killing Carlin’s friend in Dallas. But if no one was looking, nothing would ever change. It was time to look, and look hard.

  LIBBY HAD SPENT much of the past three days trying to hold back her impulse to celebrate Zeke’s find in Carly. It never hurt to be cautious. If there was something off about the girl, either in the way she did her job, or in the way she treated Zeke or the hands, Libby wanted to keep an open mind so she could spot it. After three days, she hadn’t spotted a damn thing wrong.

  Maybe it was time she stopped looking for flaws. Maybe, in spite of her initial reservations, Carly was perfect for Zeke. She was funny. She was energetic. She was sassy, and she didn’t take any guff from Zeke, which was a big plus in Libby’s book. That was one thing that had been wrong with Rachel; she hadn’t known how to go toe-to-toe with him, so she’d shown her unhappiness in other ways. Carly gave him as good as she got, and sometimes more. The truly funny thing was that Zeke seemed to enjoy when she shot some smart-ass comment at him.

  “Good morning,” Carly said cheerfully when Libby entered the kitchen. It was almost dawn, which made for an early start to the day for anyone, but Carly looked freshly scrubbed and bright-eyed. Coffee was made, something was baking and it smelled wonderful and cinnamony. As she did every morning, the next question was, “What can I get for you?”

  Libby said the same thing she did every morning as she headed toward the coffeepot. “Nothing, hon. You have enough to do for these men, without waiting on me, too.”

  Carly nodded and got back to work.

  Libby sat at the kitchen table and sipped at the coffee, content with everything she’d seen so far. Carly was exactly who she appeared to be, nothing more, nothing less: a good, hardworking woman who had landed right where she needed to be. And, just maybe, the good, hardworking woman Zeke needed by his side.

  “What smells so good?” she asked.

  “Cinnamon rolls.” Carly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why my biscuits just don’t turn out right, but the cinnamon rolls always behave just fine.”

  “Homemade cinnamon rolls?”

  “Of course.” Carly didn’t look Libby’s way, but she gave a wry smile. “A few months ago I could barely heat up a can of soup. Now I’m not afraid to try anything, as long as I have a recipe to go by. Well, more accurately, I may have doubts but why not try anyway?” At that, she did turn to look at Libby. “There is one thing I haven’t dared to try.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your chocolate cake. Everyone says it was just wonderful, and I’m afraid anything I did would suck in comparison. Oh—I don’t make pies, either. Same reason, different cook.”

  “Kat,” Libby said.

  Carly nodded. “I don’t suppose you would make that cake while you’re here so I could see how you do it? I know Zeke—and the others, too—would fall over in fits of gratitude if I could make a chocolate cake half as good as yours.”

  Libby tried not to feel flattered. She didn’t try hard, because it was nice to know an old dog still had a few tricks she could teach to the youngster.

  Zeke came striding into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Carly and lingering. If they’d been alone in the kitchen, Libby figured Carly would have been kissed until she didn’t know which way was up. It was as if there was a magnetic charge between them. Carly even took a step toward him, then stopped and moved back.

  Zeke grabbed a half cup of coffee, downed it, and headed for the mudroom.

  “Half an hour before breakfast,” Carly said. “Don’t let it get cold.�