Buch lesen: «Undercover Sheriff»

Chapter One

Colorado, 1882

When Zane Robinson stepped into his brother’s rented room, he found a woman rifling through the desk.

He fully expected her to look up, for surely she’d heard him. Zane hadn’t exactly tiptoed along the narrow path that led from Mrs. Shrankhof’s kitchen to this back addition, determined to locate his missing twin. However, the well-dressed lady in front of him appeared oblivious as she yanked on the desk drawers, pulling out what looked to be a postcard, which she latched on to with the vigor of a miner striking gold.

She then let out a harsh gasp, a look of guilty horror filling her face. For the briefest moment, Zane wondered if she was about to collapse. Thankfully, she did not. Instead, her expression hardening into tenacity, she had the gall to fold the postcard and shove it into an unseen pocket of her closely tailored skirt.

Enough was enough. Zane prepared to charge into the room, settling his Stetson—which he’d removed when he’d come inside—back on his head so both his hands would be free. He felt a twinge as he remembered that the hat was the one his brother had sent him shortly after arriving in Proud Bend.

Alex had written him jokingly that they now had matching hats, and that all they needed were identical clothes and their youth would be repeated. Back then, neither of them had minded wearing the same clothing. Such was the way one dressed identical twins.

That one memory, a shameful one for Zane, lingered.

Never mind it. Alex had long since forgiven him for that foolish ruse.

Back to the issue at hand. That woman was stealing from his brother. Zane cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

With a jump, the woman whirled. Upon seeing Zane, she sagged with obvious relief and smiled broadly. “Alex! You scared me!”

Zane quirked an eyebrow. She thought he was his brother? Of its own accord, his hand lifted to his full beard. Had Alex grown one, as well? His brother usually preferred to be clean-shaven. Yet, this woman saw past the thick facial hair when no one else had so far. Walking through town—albeit with his hat on and his collar turned up against the wind—no one had even noticed that his face was identical to that of their sheriff.

Zane’s chest tightened. Alex, his only surviving kin, was missing, gone now a week. Perhaps injured somewhere, or dead. Zane needed to find the deputy who’d wired him to ask if Zane knew where his brother was.

He didn’t. Shortly after reading the telegram, Zane had boarded the next train from Canaan, Illinois, to Denver, Colorado, then down the other line to Proud Bend. He desperately needed to see what had been done so far to find Alex. But this woman in front of him needed to answer a few questions first.

She stepped forward, her broad smile still lighting her features. “You’re safe! Praise the Lord! Where have you been? I took a card I just—”

Her smile fell like a stone and was replaced by a frown. She cut off her sentence and withdrew that one step she’d taken. “You’re not Alex,” she accused. Her delicate brows pressed together as she searched his face. “Who are you?”

Zane had no time for this. “Considering that you’re stealing from my brother, the more obvious question would be ‘who are you?’”

The woman gaped. “You even sound like Alex! Are you his twin?” She tilted her head, assessing him. “What am I saying? Of course you are. Apart from the beard, you’re identical.” She touched her chest again as she peered hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever met identical twins before. It’s amazing!”

Zane’s attention dropped to her hand. Her fingers were rough and callused, nails cut short and utilitarian, a curious contradiction to the rest of this regal woman, whose fine, expensive-looking outfit was perfectly tailored to her tall, slender frame. Her black hair—what he could see of it beneath her bonnet—was arranged in a neat, fashionable knot.

Who was she? Alex hadn’t mentioned this woman, or any woman for that matter. “My brother told you he has a twin?” Very curious, indeed. “How did that come up in conversation?”

“It didn’t. It’s the only logical answer. You just said you’re his brother.”

Of course. Zane rubbed his brow. He was tired. That was the only reason for the foolish question. The woman was frowning again. Studying him closely.

Wariness tingled through Zane. She was smart. Was she also calculating? It certainly looked that way. He had better watch himself—he’d learned the hard way the dangers of other people’s craftiness. He was here to find Alex, not deal with yet another corrupt town.

“I can see that you’re perfectly capable of answering questions,” he ground out. “So, shall we return to my first one? Who are you?”

She wet her lips in what Zane might call a nervous action. As she should be, he thought without the charity he’d been taught as a child. Charity should be saved for those who don’t steal.

Or betray their sheriff, as had happened back in Canaan.

Surprisingly, the woman’s words were calm despite, he was sure, not wanting to give him a single shred of information. “My name is Rachel Smith.”

“Good, Miss Smith. Very good.” Zane took a deliberate step closer to her, hoping to appear intimidating. Although she was taller than any woman he’d ever met, Miss Smith didn’t compare with his big frame. Yet she stood her ground.

It didn’t matter. She’d been caught stealing. He thrust out his hand, palm skyward. “Now give me what you just slipped into your pocket. Before I take it from you.”

* * *

Rachel swallowed. Through her skirt, she fingered the postcard. She did not want to relinquish the only clue she had, although she had no idea why her name was scrawled on the postcard or how it had come into the possession of Proud Bend’s new sheriff. And she certainly did not wish to hand it over to this stranger.

The postcard could be the last thing Alex had handled before he went missing. If she could learn where he’d obtained it, it could help her retrace the steps he’d taken during the investigation she’d asked him to make into Rosa’s disappearance. It could lead her to both Rosa and the woman’s young son, Daniel, not to mention Alex, for surely his disappearance had to be related to theirs.

Please, Lord, keep them all safe. Rosa loves You now, I’m sure of it. If someone has kidnapped her to force her to return to that awful trade, change their hearts, Lord. Have all three of them released.

“The contents of your pocket?” the man prompted her, his hand thrust out even farther. Rachel suppressed a shiver.

Don’t be intimidated by this man.

He was clearly suspicious of her presence in his brother’s room, and if he saw the postcard with her name on it, his suspicions would only increase. She arched her brows and locked her hands primly against her skirt, one palm ensuring the card remained tucked away. “So, since you are his twin, what is your name?”

“Alex didn’t tell you? You two seem so close.” He paused, his brows lifted and his head tilted slightly to the left as if expecting a prompt answer. When she refused to rise to his provocation, he continued, “My name is Zane Robinson.”

Rachel ignored his cold tone. His brother was missing, so he was bound to be in a foul mood. Still, she frowned. “Alex said his full name was Alexander Zane Robinson.”

“That’s correct. I am Zane Alexander Robinson. Our mother thought it would be whimsical to switch our names.”

“Interesting.” She nodded, all the while hoping to appear unruffled. She was anything but that. In fact, she felt more ruffled by the second. “Why are you here?” she asked, hoping to move the conversation away from the postcard.

Zane did not move. His hand remained extended, waiting for her to relinquish the postcard still tucked safely in her pocket. Obviously, he did not wish to divert the subject. “Why did you just steal that card?”

When she offered no explanation, he continued, “I want it. If you do not hand it over immediately, I will simply take it from you. By force.”

Rachel swallowed. Regardless of her innocent motives, she had stolen something from Alex’s desk, and this man, his identical twin, had more right to it than she did.

Lord, Your spirit is pricking my conscience. Have it work for Your good.

Reluctantly, Rachel dug out the postcard. All she could hope for was that Zane would find it useful in tracking down Alex. “All I wanted to do was study it when I had the time, because I don’t have it now. I would have returned it.” She would have, she told herself fiercely, but the look of doubt on Zane’s face proved he didn’t believe her.

“And the reason for not giving it to his deputy to aid in his investigation? Unless, of course, you are responsible for Alex’s disappearance.”

“I’m not!” She threw back her shoulders. “I have no reason to wish any harm to Alex! I am, in fact, the one who is working the hardest to find him—and I’m just as capable as the deputy is at following a lead. Perhaps better than him. Otherwise, he would have already found this card himself. He has just admitted to me this very morning that he hasn’t yet searched this room because Alex was at the sheriff’s office, and before that, at the saloon, and had not been here for several hours before he was last seen. The deputy didn’t think searching here would help, whereas I do. That’s why I’m here. I’m retracing his last day starting in the morning.”

“Really?” Zane’s extended hand did not waver, for she had not yet returned the card. “Leads can take a person to places where ladies such as you should never go.”

A snicker escaped her lips before she could stop it. “You, sir, have no idea where I have gone. Regardless, this postcard could hold clues to your brother’s location. That’s the only reason I took it.”

Oh, who are you kidding here? You’re also afraid you’ll be implicated in his disappearance.

Ignoring the sudden internal accusation, Rachel opened the folded card slowly. It was a picture postcard of Castle Rock, the town just a few miles southeast on the same railway line that led up to Denver. The imposing butte jutted up in the picture’s background, an ugly formation Rachel knew was normally covered with mining paraphernalia, but in this romantically painted landscape, the artist had removed all that trash. She hastily committed the image to memory before turning it over. Beneath the standard postcard printing was her name, written at an upward angle. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but knew that few people in Proud Bend—assuming the writer lived here and not in Castle Rock—could manage such smooth, readable cursive.

Zane tugged the card from her grip, obviously impatient with her delay. After studying it himself, he glanced up at her. “It has your name on it, Miss Smith.”

Rachel swallowed. “Yes. I can read.”

“It’s in my brother’s handwriting.”

She lifted her brows, all the while trying her best to stay reserved. She was anything but that. What Zane had just said answered one of her questions but added others. Why had Alex written her name on a postcard from the next town? Where did he get this card? Had he traveled to Castle Rock in the course of his investigation into Rosa’s disappearance? If so, why take a postcard and waste it by writing only her name on it?

Worry bit into Rachel. Lord, You know where they are. Lead us to them. Rosa wanted to give her life to the Lord, she’d told Rachel hesitantly, and the next day she had promised Rachel she would help her in her ministry to the misguided women who had fallen into a life of prostitution in Proud Bend. That had been over a month ago, for today was the seventh of December. Rosa had gone missing ten days ago. Rachel had gone straight to Alex the day after she’d disappeared. Two days after that, Alex had vanished, as well. So far, she’d found no clues to his whereabouts—except for this card. It might have nothing to do with Rosa, but if it wasn’t important, why keep it? It had been the only thing in a drawer that by now should have been littered with various small items.

“How did you get in here?” Interrupting her thoughts, Zane glanced around the room. “Did my brother give you his key?”

Rachel flushed. “Mrs. Shrankhof unlocked the room for me. Since I’m not privy to Alex’s official files on Rosa and Daniel—”

“Rosa? Daniel?” Zane looked baffled as he cut her off. “Who are they?”

“Rosa Carrera is a friend.” Rachel clipped her words, not wanting to mention the woman’s former profession. “Daniel is her young son, a toddler. They disappeared a few days before Alex did. I reported it.”

“Perhaps they moved away?”

Rachel shook her head. “She’d spent the weeks before her disappearance helping me with my ministry, and she was committed to the cause. She wouldn’t have just left. Besides, none of their things are missing—nor did she say goodbye to anyone.”

“Just what is this ministry of yours?”

She hesitated. She’d hoped to avoid specifying, worried that Zane would lose interest in the disappearance if he discovered that it applied to the unfortunates that society usually considered beneath their notice.

“I minister to the soiled doves of Proud Bend, and attempt to bring them to God.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “And Rosa helped you in this ministry? Was she a soiled dove, as well?”

“She used to be,” Rachel admitted.

“Maybe she returned to her old habits?”

“No, she has given her life to God.” Rachel folded her arms. “Obviously you’re not a Christian, to be so willing to discount the work of the Holy Spirit.”

Zane raised his brows, looking insulted. “I assure you, Miss Smith, nothing could be further from the truth.”

Rachel studied him. Although she couldn’t say why, she believed his words. She had no proof, save the indignant look. She had no proof that Alex’s disappearance was related to Rosa’s, either, but like Zane’s answer, she knew it to be true.

His scowl returned. “So you reported her disappearance to Alex?”

“Yes, but as soon as he opened an investigation, he went missing, too.” Rachel bit her lip. Had Alex somehow given up on this town and abandoned his duties? Had the work here proved too much for Proud Bend’s new sheriff? Too much stress and anxiety?

Automatically, Rachel’s thoughts moved to her childhood friend, Bea. Hard times had hit Bea’s family and by the time Rachel and Bea were eighteen, Bea had turned to prostitution to help make ends meet. A year later, in a fit of remorse for her choices, Bea had taken her own life. That sad act had cemented Rachel’s desire to help the soiled doves of Proud Bend.

That same year, along came Liza, who’d approached Rachel one day on the street, asking for money and followed by a younger, equally squalid-looking woman. It was Rosa, Liza’s daughter—a young woman who knew nothing else but to follow her mother in the profession of prostitution.

Rachel shut her eyes, trying to banish the memory. It still hurt to think of Liza and the terrible part Rachel had played in her untimely death.

You should feel guilty.

Two women, two deaths. Another woman missing. You could have tried harder to help Bea. And Liza might still be alive today if you hadn’t convinced the other soiled doves to hand over their life savings for you to invest. You would never have been robbed and assaulted that night. And if that hadn’t happened, Liza wouldn’t have decided to confront the man she believed was the thief. Your arrogance—your belief that you could save those women—played a big part in Liza’s death.

Rachel pushed aside the painful memories before they gained a stronger foothold. Right now, she couldn’t afford to dwell on them. Finding Rosa and Alex must come before wallowing in guilt.

Had she done enough to help Alex with the investigation? Maybe if she’d spoken to him more, she would have known more about what he’d uncovered—and what had caused his own disappearance. But Rachel had deliberately kept all of her interactions with the sheriff as brief and discreet as possible, seeing him only in the early morning, when most of the women who worked in the cribs behind the saloon were sleeping. Rachel didn’t need to be known as someone who was close with the sheriff, considering the distrust and suspicion the soiled doves felt toward law enforcement. Prostitution wasn’t illegal, but those women were often arrested for vagrancy and theft, leading them to avoid the law as much as possible.

Rachel sighed. None of this answered why Proud Bend’s sheriff had written her name on a postcard from the neighboring town or even when he’d done so. Rachel stepped closer, indicating the postcard that Zane still held and determined to glean from it every ounce of information she could. “Are you sure it’s Alex’s handwriting?”

He tossed her a sharp look. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Of course not.” She frowned at his defensive tone. “Are you absolutely certain that’s his handwriting?”

“We wrote—write—to each other regularly. When I received a telegram stating he was missing—”

“You received a telegram? When? From whom?”

Zane’s mouth thinned before he answered. “This past Sunday. I took that day’s train. In fact, I have only just arrived.”

“Who sent you that telegram?”

“Alex’s deputy,” Zane answered. “A man named Wilson. He informed me that Alex was missing and asked if I’d heard from him.”

Rachel swallowed. Instead of searching this room, the new deputy had contacted the brother who lived miles away? Why wasn’t the deputy doing more to search for answers here in Proud Bend? Instead, he’d sent a telegram and, as far as Rachel could tell, done little else.

Suspicion rose in her, but she crushed it. Not so long ago, the night her father had died, her father’s business partner, Clyde Abernathy, had tried to kill her and her mother in an attempt to gain control of the bank he shared with Rachel’s father. Now, Rachel felt mistrust at every turn.

No. Suspicion and doubt did not come from God, she told herself fiercely. Nor should she complain about Deputy Wilson’s choice at where he would start his investigation. She hadn’t considered this room either until late last night. Rachel wouldn’t condemn Deputy Wilson’s decisions, not when she was just as negligent, even if her own investigation could not be sanctioned by the law.

With deep concern, Rachel rubbed her arms to suppress a shiver. She couldn’t afford to give in to this worry.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Zane cut her off. “I would prefer to be the one who asks the questions,” he said. He glanced at the door. “How well do you know my brother?”

His words might have been suggestive, but Rachel heard nothing but concern in Zane’s tone. “That’s not important,” she answered. “How did you know where your brother lived? You said you came straight here from the train.”

“Alex had written me about his new home.” Zane narrowed his eyes. “Are you intimate enough with Alex that his landlady would let you in anytime you want?”

Now those words went beyond suggestive into insulting. Coloring, Rachel tugged on the pocket flaps of her outfit’s fine jacket. “Absolutely not!” It was only then that she noticed how Zane had left the door open. Although it was clear and bright this December morning, the cold draft barreling in had dissolved any heat created by the sunshine through the window. “I’m not intimate with Alex in any way, shape or form. Mrs. Shrankhof let me in because she is as concerned over his disappearance as I am and she trusts me.”

“How commendable of you.” He folded his arms. “Now, the real reason you took the card.”

Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m delighted you are so concerned for Alex that you would search his room for any leads as to where he’s gone, but I don’t believe that’s your main reason, Miss Smith.”

Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “W-why do you say that?”

“You were very focused. You went straight to this desk.”

“How do you know?”

Zane pointed briefly to the floor. “There is a skiff of snow outside and you have tracked it only to the desk, not to the wardrobe or the chest of drawers.”

Rachel glanced down at the small pools of melting snow that indicated where she’d walked. Zane Robinson was as eagle-eyed as Mrs. Shrankhof. Despite her pounding heart, she shrugged. “It was the logical place to start. I came, and the first thing I saw was the desk.”

She threw back her shoulders. “Since I first reported Rosa missing, I have gone to the sheriff’s office every day for an update, even after Alex disappeared. When I learned that Deputy Wilson had focused his investigation into Alex around the saloon only, I decided to start my own. I came here and found that postcard. As you have pointed out, that’s all I’ve done.”

“And you know for sure Wilson has not searched this room yet?”

“Mrs. Shrankhof confirmed that no one has been in here. It’s her job to clean once a week. She’d tidied his room the day he went missing and then locked it up. Believe me, she would notice anyone coming. Unless it was Alex, who has his own key, they would need to ask her to unlock the door. I don’t know why Deputy Wilson has not yet searched this room. Perhaps you can ask him that.”

Rachel paused. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that Deputy Wilson might have obtained Alex’s key and slipped in under the cover of darkness. What if Wilson had taken it after he’d kidnapped Alex?

No. Wilson wouldn’t risk incriminating himself in that way. However, what if he’d slipped in here in the middle of the night and planted that postcard, hoping to point the finger at Rachel?

She brushed away the wild conjecture. Such was the result of a stalled investigation and a too-suspicious nature after being exposed to her father’s and Abernathy’s sly corruption.

“I plan to question Wilson very thoroughly.” Zane tipped his head to one side. “So, Detective Smith, what’s your next move?”