Page 195 of Ride a Cowboy

She shook her head. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—accept that. “No, Lyle’s put all the pieces here. We just have to figure them out.”

Apparently Lyle had stopped by her apartment prior to his appearance at the warehouse. He’d slid a coded letter under her door that she’d discovered when she returned home that night.

At first, she hadn’t had time to acknowledge or even attempt to crack the code contained in the message. She’d been instructed to quickly pack a suitcase, and then she’d been placed in the very capable hands of Rodney, who had become her protector, guardian angel and best friend.

Rodney rested his head against the cushioned back of the chair and sighed loudly. “I don’t know, Bridge. It’s not looking good.”

Guilt pricked at the edges of her conscience. The dear cop had put his life and career on the line for her. She hated feeling like she’d failed yet another friend.

“We’re in the right place, Rodney. I know it. We just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle, and we’ll have all the evidence we need to take down a hell of a lot more criminals than just Judge Thompson.” Lyle had given up his life to see not only the judge brought to justice, but the judge’s entire network as well.

She sighed. He had also died for her. He’d brought the evidence to her instead of a more seasoned reporter because he wanted to help her get a promotion, a break in her career. Bridget intended to see that his sacrifice wasn’t wasted. She’d find the evidence, see the bad guys put behind bars, and then she’d take New York by storm. She’d become the greatest reporter ever and write a front-page article telling the world what Lyle had done.

She looked at the letter again. The paper had lost its crispness due to her constant handling. It was now soft as thin cotton and just as flimsy. Lyle’s damn love of mysteries and puzzles was currently driving her insane. He’d clearly coded his message in a way—he’d thought—only she would be able to solve. Unfortunately, he’d been too clever for her.

He’d penned the letter as a memory—one they didn’t share. To anyone reading the message, they’d think it a short, funny story about a drunken night in college. Bridget knew better. Lyle had mentioned there were copies of the flash drive the judge had taken from him. Copies that held the information he’d uncovered regarding the judge’s illegal affairs. When she thought back to the night he was killed, she was certain Lyle had said that one statement louder than everything else. Actually, she had proof that was true, because it was one of the few things her mini-recorder had picked up in the warehouse. She knew to the very depths of her soul that Lyle’s letter would lead her to those copied files.

After several months of traveling from safe house to safe house—and she used that term lightly—she’d managed to convince Rodney they should pursue the clues left in the letter rather than sit idly by, awaiting the beginning of the trial.

When it became apparent someone inside the New York police department was selling out their whereabouts to the judge and his accomplice, they’d decided to go it alone. Rodney had taken to calling her kitten, claiming she had the nine lives of a cat. Bridget was pretty sure she’d already used up at least eight of them. There was no way she could face the open end of a gun again and survive.

“I must’ve lost my mind, letting you talk me into coming here.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Don’t talk like that. We’re so close. We have to be.”

“Christ, Bridget. We’re no closer to finding those files now than we were when we were still in Oklahoma.”

“The code indicated Saratoga. You discovered that piece of the puzzle yourself.” She held out the paper and pointed to the first line in the letter. It simply said,

Bridget,

Remember in college when Sara got totally trashed at the toga party?

It was Rodney who had shared the fact that some codes were based on numbers. By counting every sixth word, they came up with Saratoga. Bridget recalled Lyle saying one time that he was born in Wyoming. When Rodney had said the word Saratoga, something clicked with her. Unfortunately, his every sixth word theory had run dry after that sentence. The code of six didn’t appear to work for the rest of the missive.

“And here we sit in the middle of Bumfuck, Wyoming, with a crooked judge’s hit man hot on our heels with no backup and no disk or flash drive or whatever the fuck it is we’re supposed to be looking for.”

“The copy the judge took off Lyle the night he was killed was a flash drive. I bet that’s what we’re looking for.”

Rodney shook his head. “Regardless of what the information is stored on, we still don’t know where it is. I need to call in, tell my chief where we are. As it is, I’m pretty sure he’s ready to fire my ass the minute I show myself.”

Twice, a hit man had shown up at the safe house where they were hidden, and twice, Rodney had managed to smuggle her to safety. Following the last failed attempt on her life, they’d holed up in an abandoned apartment building outside Oklahoma City for three days while trying to figure out their next move. When Bridget had shown him Lyle’s letter and laid out her reasons for wanting to break the code and find the information, Rodney agreed to help her. They’d gone rogue, unable to trust anyone in Rodney’s department.

“Rodney, the damage is done. We can’t undo the fact that we’ve cut ties from them. You knew when we took this route your job was in danger. Don’t cave now. Not when we’re so close. I guarantee if you go back to New York with the information to bring down so many criminals, there’s no way your chief will fire you. Hell, you’ll probably be hailed as a hero and given the key to the whole freaking city. They might even throw you a parade.”

Rodney chuckled. “Christ. You could talk a billionaire into giving up all his money. Never met such a persuasive woman.”

She grinned. “Not persuasive. That makes me sound like some crooked politician. I prefer the word determined. What we’re doing is right, Rodney. You know it is or you never would have gone along with this plan in the first place. It’s too late for cold feet.”

“And what happens if the hit man shows up here? This isn’t like the last two places. They were secluded with preplanned escape routes. We’re sitting ducks here. And the worst part is I can’t ensure the safety of the other guests in this bed and breakfast. The owners are nice guys. I’d hate to put them in danger.”

Rodney had a very good point. They’d come to Saratoga with no plan other than to find the flash drive. Rodney had been in a hurry to get them off the road and to find them a place to stay, so he’d opted for this secluded B&B away from the town rather than the hotel on the main thoroughfare. Even though it was peaceful and off the beaten track, they’d been on their own for too many months, and it was hard not to feel exposed in the relatively full B&B. Just their luck, they’d chosen Valentine’s weekend to go it alone. They were surrounded by lovers on romantic getaways.

“We’ll just have to be on our guard.”

Rodney raised an eyebrow. “And how will that be different from any other day these past six months?”

She laughed. “Why don’t you see if the owners will let you use their computer? Maybe you can find a secluded cabin somewhere around here that we can rent for cheap.”

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