Cardwell Christmas Crime Scene. B.J. Daniels

       Chapter Three

      Beau Tanner had always known the debt would come due, and probably at the worst possible time. He’d dreaded this day since he was ten. Over the years he’d waited, knowing there was no way he could deny whatever request was put to him.

      The sins of the father, he thought as he stared at the envelope he’d found in his mailbox this morning. The return address was for an attorney in San Diego, California. But the letter inside was from a California state correction facility prisoner by the name of Walter Justice.

      He wondered only idly how the man had found him after all these years, forgetting for a moment the kind of people he was dealing with. Beau could have ended up anywhere in the world. Instead, he’d settled in the Gallatin Canyon, where they’d first met. He suspected Walter had kept track of him, knowing that one day he would demand payment for the debt.

      The letter had been sent to his home address here on the ranch—instead of his office. So he knew before he opened it that it would be personal.

      Telling himself just to get it over with, Beau studied the contents of the envelope. There were two sheets of paper inside. One appeared to be a travel article about Eleuthera, an island in the Bahamas. The other was a plain sheet of paper with a printed note:

      Take care of my daughter, DJ. Flight 1129 from LA arriving in Bozeman, Montana, Thursday at 2:45 p.m. Dana Cardwell Savage will be picking her up and taking her to Cardwell Ranch. I highly advise you not to let her know that you’re watching out for her—and most especially that it was at my request.

      It was signed W. Justice.

      Under that he’d written, “Cell phone number for emergencies only.”

      Today was Thursday. DJ’s flight would be coming in this afternoon. Walter had called it awfully close. What if Beau had been out of town? If he’d questioned whether Walter had kept track of him, he didn’t anymore.

      He read the letter again and swore. He had no idea what this was about. Apparently Walter’s daughter needed protection? A small clue would have been helpful. And protection from what? Or was it from whom?

      Also, he was surprised Walt’s daughter would be coming to Montana. That was where their paths had crossed all those years ago. He thought of the dark-haired five-year-old girl with the huge brown expressive eyes and the skinny ten-year-old kid he’d been.

      He remembered the way she’d looked up at him, how he’d melted into those eyes, how he’d foolishly wanted to rescue her. What a joke. He hadn’t even been able to rescue himself. Like him, she’d been trapped in a life that wasn’t her doing.

      “Any mail for me?” asked a sleepy-sounding female voice from behind him.

      He folded the letter and article and shoved them into his jean jacket pocket before turning to look at the slim, beautiful blonde leaning against his kitchen counter. “Nope. Look, Leah—”

      “I really appreciate you letting me stay here, Beau,” she said, cutting him off. “If this package I have coming wasn’t so important and I wasn’t between places right now...”

      Beau nodded, mentally kicking himself for getting involved when she’d shown up on his doorstep. “Leah, I wish you hadn’t put me in the middle of whatever this is.”

      “Please, no lectures,” she said, raising a hand. “Especially before I’ve had my coffee. You did make coffee, didn’t you? I remember that you always made better coffee than Charlie.” Her voice broke at Charlie’s name. She turned away from him, but not before he’d seen the tears.

      She pulled down a clean cup and poured herself a cup of coffee before turning to him again. He studied her in the steam that rose from the dark liquid. He’d met Leah Barnhart at college when his best friend and roommate, Charlie Mack, had been dating her. The three of them had become good friends. Leah and Charlie had later married and both taken jobs abroad. Over the years, they’d kept in touch for a while, then just an occasional Christmas card. The past few years there hadn’t even been a Christmas card.

      No wonder he’d been so surprised and caught off guard to find her standing on his doorstep last night.

      “And you’re not in the middle of anything,” she said after taking a long drink of her coffee.

      “Why are you here?”

      “I told you. I’m expecting an important package. I happened to be in Montana and thought about our college days...” She met his gaze and shrugged.

      He didn’t believe any of it. “Where’s Charlie? You said he’s still in Europe. I need his number.”

      She looked away with a sigh. “I don’t have it.”

      He glanced at her bare left-hand ring finger. “Are you divorced?”

      “No, of course not.” She let out a nervous laugh. “We’re just—It’s a long story, and really not one I’m ready to get into this early in the morning. Can we talk about this later?”

      He agreed, since he needed to get to work. DJ Justice would be flying into Montana in a few hours. He had to be ready. He had no idea what was required to keep her safe. It might come down to some extreme measures. Since he didn’t know why she even needed protection—or from whom—now was definitely not the time to have a houseguest, especially one who knew nothing about his life before college. He wanted to keep it that way.

      “You don’t decorate for Christmas?” Leah asked as she looked around the large log home he’d built back in a small valley in the mountains not far from Big Sky. He’d bought enough land that he could have horses—and privacy. That was another reason he’d been surprised to find her on his doorstep. His place wasn’t that easy to find.

      He raked a hand through his thick, unruly mop of blond hair. “I’ve never been one for holidays.”

      She nodded. “I thought you’d at least have had a tree and some lights.”

      He glanced at his watch. “If you need anything, call my office and talk to Marge.”

      Leah made a face. “I called your office on my way here. Marge scares me.”

      He doubted that. He’d known Leah a lifetime ago. Was this woman standing in his kitchen the same Leah he’d toasted when she and Charlie had married? “Marge is a little protective.”

      “I should say. So you really are a private investigator?”

      “That’s what my license says.”

      She studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why do I get the feeling there is more to it?”

      “I have no idea,” he said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right here by yourself?”

      “I’ll be fine.” She smiled. “I won’t steal your silverware, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

      “I wasn’t. Anyway, it’s cheap flatware.”

      She sobered. “I’ve missed