Colton 911: Cowboy's Rescue

by Marie Ferrarella

  Sheer will had her keeping her breakfast down. Maggie refused to give Corgan the satisfaction of knowing he had intimidated her.

  Noting her pallor, Jonah leaned in and whispered, “We can still leave.”

  But she was adamant. “No, we’ve come this far, I’m not about to turn tail and run now,” she told him fiercely. A little more fiercely than she was actually feeling at the moment.

  Drawing her shoulders back, Maggie released her death grip on his hand and made her way toward an empty table.

  Jonah was right beside her, intent on being her bodyguard. He didn’t like the way that Elliott Corgan was looking at her, as if he was sizing her up, no doubt just the way the man had sized up his victims all those years ago.

  This was a bad idea.

  Elliott put his hand on the back of the chair, claiming it. He sat down opposite them.

  Prison hadn’t broken him, Jonah thought. Instead, Corgan held himself erect like a man who was confident in the fact that he was feared and thus respected in the warped world where he resided.

  The intense dark eyes passed quickly over him, but it was Maggie who seemed to interest Corgan.

  Corgan devoured her with his eyes.

  Maggie had to struggle in order not to shiver or to allow the revulsion she felt toward the prisoner to show through. If Corgan saw contempt in her eyes, she knew he wouldn’t be inclined to cooperate.

  He still might not be, she thought. But she had to try.

  Corgan was first to speak. “Who are you?”

  Lies were best if they were kept simple—she had heard that somewhere. So she gave the convicted serial killer their real names.

  “I’m Maggie Reeves.” She nodded toward Jonah as she completed the introduction. “And this is Jonah Colton. We’ve come to get your side of the story and present it to our audience.”

  A flicker of interest rose in Elliott’s dark eyes. He stared at her intently. “You two are saying that you’re filmmakers?” he questioned.

  Maggie raised her head, refusing to look away, refusing to be intimidated. She met his gaze head-on. “Yes,” Maggie answered proudly.

  Elliott smirked at the duo sitting before him. “You ain’t no such thing,” he snarled in a superior tone. “You’re frauds and you’re wasting my time,” he told them, pushing the chair back as he began to rise.

  “Seems to me that you’ve got nothing but time,” Jonah told him. His gaze was unwavering even though being so close to Corgan literally turned his stomach. But this was important to Maggie so he pressed on. “Don’t you want to know why we’re really here?” he asked the man serving several life sentences.

  Elliot sat down again. His eyes lingered on Maggie before he said to Jonah, “Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you two and what the hell are you doing here?”

  Maggie spoke up. “I already gave you our names,” she told him, then added, “I used to be married to your nephew, James.” She watched the serial killer as the information sank in.

  The thin cheeks spread in a chilling, lecherous smile. “Well, come here, darlin’, and let me give you a hug to welcome you into the family,” Corgan told her, rising again. The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed it back.

  He leaned over the table, his arms spread out toward Maggie.

  The guard, who had remained in the doorway watching Corgan, was instantly alert and crossed the room to the prisoner.

  “Hey, you know the rules. No contact,” the guard barked at him.

  The latter raised his hands in mock submission. “No contact,” Corgan repeated in a scornful voice. Then he looked at his visitors. “They’re afraid if I touch someone, they’ll wind up dead,” he chuckled, amused by his own joke. “You’re not afraid of me, are you, darlin’?” Corgan asked, leering at Maggie.

  “Why don’t we get down to business?” Jonah said in a cold, stern voice.

  “I’m always all about business.” Corgan’s thin lips pulled back in a sneer as he looked at Maggie again.

  Maggie had planned to approach her questioning slowly, but obviously this wasn’t a man who responded to subtlety. He had to be all but beaten over the head with questions.

  So rather than find the right way to ask, she just forged ahead and asked her questions. “We found Emmeline Thompson’s body the other day. She was buried beneath that really huge oak on your brother’s ranch,” she told Corgan, watching his face for any sort of a reaction.

  Corgan’s drawn face remained impassive. “Do tell.” He leaned in over the table, stopped just short of making contact. “Why don’t you refresh my memory, darlin’?”

  “You should remember this one,” Maggie all but spit out. “You mummified her and wrapped her up in plastic.” To her horror, Corgan began to laugh. She exchanged looks with Jonah.

  “What are you laughing at, you pervert?” Jonah demanded.

  “Emmeline Thompson,” Corgan repeated with a chilling smile. “I remember.”

  Maggie looked alert. “You remember killing her?” she cried.

  “No, I remember really wishing I had done her.” Corgan looked up, making eye contact with Maggie. “But I can’t take the credit for that.” He spread his hands out. “I’m innocent.”

  “You’ve never known an innocent day in your life,” Jonah snarled at the man.

  Corgan inclined his head, conceding the point. “Maybe so, but I’m innocent of killing the Thompson girl. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to add another kill to my list, but I can’t because I didn’t touch her.” And then he looked at Maggie, his interest aroused. “Did you say she was mummified?”

  Maggie found it extremely difficult not to shout at the lowlife scum sitting right in front of her. “You know she was.”

  Corgan shook his head. “Like I said, it wasn’t me. But you saying that she was mummified, well, that gives me an idea about who actually did do the deed.” He smiled mysteriously.

  That was when the prison guard came up to the table again. “Time’s up, Corgan,” the burly man announced.

  “Who was it?” Maggie asked as Corgan got up from the table. “Who killed Emmeline?” she asked him urgently.

  Corgan was obviously enjoying this. “Well, if I’m right, that guy’s still out there, probably killing more young women. Maybe even as we’re all standing in here, talking about him.”

  “Who?” Maggie demanded, her voice rising. “Who is it?”

  “Hey, I’m not going to tell you again, Corgan,” the guard growled at him.

  “Sorry, you heard the guard.” Corgan was enjoying himself now. “I’ve gotta go,” he told the two people questioning him with relish. “But y’all come back and visit me real soon now, you hear? Maybe I’ll tell you who it is then,” Corgan tossed over his shoulder, relishing this game that he was playing with them. “You know where to find me. I’m not going to be going anywhere for a long, long time.”

  Corgan paused one last second in the doorway, just leering at Maggie, before the guard roughly pulled him away.

  Since their meeting had been abruptly terminated, Maggie and Jonah got up to leave. Another guard was there to make sure they didn’t linger.

  When they stopped to get their personal possessions from the guard in charge of holding on to them, Maggie turned toward Jonah and asked, “Think he’s telling the truth? That he knows who’s responsible for Emmeline’s death?”

  Reunited with his phone and his watch, Jonah put them into his pockets. “Ordinarily, I’d say no, that Corgan just said that to mess with your head. But there was a look that came into his eyes when you mentioned that the chief’s sister was mummified and wrapped up in plastic.”

  “What kind of look?” Maggie asked, because she had totally missed it.

  “Surprised. Like this was news to him. And then he brightened up,” Jonah continued as they made their way down the corridor and to the first exit
, “like he suddenly made a connection. The man just might be a consummate actor, and given that he got away with all those murders for so long, he could be, but my gut tells me that maybe, just maybe, we caught Corgan off his game for a second. He really looked surprised by the details of Emmeline’s murder.”

  Passing through another doorway, they finally made their way outside. “So that means Corgan does know who did it.”

  Jonah nodded. “And if there’s a chance that he does, our next step is to tell the chief.”

  “You’re right,” Maggie agreed.

  He grinned. “Finally.”

  Chapter 15

  They were almost back in Whisperwood when Maggie’s cell phone buzzed, announcing that she had received another text message.

  Jonah glanced at her. “Maybe that’s your sister with an update on the wedding,” he said hopefully.

  Hurricane Brooke had forced everyone’s plans to be placed temporarily on hold and that included Donovan and Bellamy’s wedding. But the rec center, which was where the reception was to be held, had miraculously avoided being on the receiving end of any damages, major or minor. With all the people who had initially been invited to the wedding slowly getting their lives back in order, things were looking up. It seemed to Jonah that all that needed to be done at this point was to decide on a new date and then proceed with the actual wedding.

  With that thought foremost in her mind, Maggie pulled out her phone, entered her passcode and swiped open the message center.

  When she didn’t say anything, Jonah looked in her direction.

  Maggie’s expression was grim.

  Red flags immediately went up. “I take it from the look on your face that the text you just got isn’t from Bellamy.”

  “No,” Maggie answered quietly, “it’s not.”

  The next second, she pressed the home button, causing the message she’d just read to disappear.

  “Who is it from?” Jonah asked, although as far as he was concerned, it was a rhetorical question. The tone of her voice had told him everything.

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t, and the fact that she didn’t both exasperated and frightened her.

  “You received another anonymous text?” Jonah asked, already making that assumption. He waited for Maggie to fill him in on the details.

  Maggie shrugged, looking out the side window. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does,” Jonah insisted. He abruptly pulled his truck over to the side of the road, pulling up the handbrake. As the truck idled, he turned in his seat to look at Maggie. “It was from that same person again, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed, still staring out the window. “It looks that way.”

  “Let me see it,” Jonah said, holding his hand out and waiting.

  Although she was far from happy about it, Maggie surrendered her cell phone to him.

  Jonah found himself looking down at a dark screen. Handing it back to her, he said, “Nice try, Maggie. Type in your passcode.”

  Reluctantly, she typed it in, then pulled up the last text message that had just come in from the anonymous sender. She gave the cell phone back to Jonah. He read aloud.

  I warned you to back off if you want to live.

  He looked at Maggie. “He gets right to the point, doesn’t he?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she told Jonah, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “I said it’s just a stupid prank.”

  “I am worried about it because it’s not a stupid prank,” Jonah insisted. “Once is a prank,” he told her, “twice is a pattern. Best-case scenario, somebody wants to scare you off. Worst case—we don’t want to think about worst case.”

  “You think this is somehow connected to Emmeline Thompson’s death?” she asked him.

  He didn’t need to think about it to answer. “Well, it’s a hell of a coincidence if it’s not. You got the first text from this guy after you went ‘exploring’ in the middle of a hurricane—”

  “The hurricane hadn’t hit when I went out to the ranch,” she reminded Jonah with a touch of defensiveness.

  He gave her a look that clearly told her he thought she was splitting hairs.

  “And this latest text came just after you went to visit Corgan in prison to question him about the body we found,” Jonah said.

  “You think we’re being watched?” she asked, forcing herself to put her fear into words.

  What he was worried about was that she was being watched, but he didn’t want to state it that way because he didn’t want to scare Maggie any more than he had to. He felt it was better to stick with the pronoun she had used.

  “That would be my guess,” he said. “Maybe the chief has an IT person who could backtrack this text message to a specific phone.”

  Maggie nodded, agreeing. “Then I guess we have two reasons to see the chief,” she said. She pointed toward his idling engine. “You’re wasting gas, you know. Let’s go.”

  Amusement came into his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” Jonah responded easily.

  Her eyebrows drew together over flashing blue eyes. “Call me ‘ma’am’ again and that’ll be the last word you ever get to say.”

  This time Jonah laughed. “Information duly noted, Ms. Reeves.” He pulled back onto the road. “Now let’s go find the chief.”

  * * *

  They lucked out and found Chief Thompson as the latter was heading back to his office. He gave the appearance of someone who had been out working all day. He also looked far from happy.

  “What the hell’s wrong with people?” he complained the moment they caught up with him and managed to get his attention.

  “I’ve got a strong feeling that you’re about to tell us,” Jonah guessed.

  Thompson didn’t appear to even hear him. If he did, he didn’t comment on Jonah’s attempt to infuse humor into the serious situation.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Thompson said. “Most of these folks are out there helping one another and that’s how it should be.”

  “But?” Jonah asked, waiting for the chief to get to the end of his thought and tell them what was bothering him.

  “But then I find two of our younger citizens who should know better looting. Looting!” he repeated with disgust. “They were taking advantage of this catastrophe and making off with things other Whisperwood residents could put to use.” His eyes blazed as he shook his head. “If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand that sort of behavior,” he declared angrily.

  “These sorts of disasters bring out the worst in some people, but they also bring out the best in others and usually the latter outweighs the former,” Maggie told the older man, hoping that might restore his usually even temperament. They needed him clearheaded.

  “I know, I know,” Thompson answered, still disgruntled. “It’s just that the former leaves a really bad taste in my mouth.”

  The chief shook his head again, unlocking his door and walking into his unoccupied office. His other officers were out in the field, helping out and doing whatever needed to be done.

  “Well, we have some news, Chief, that may or may not cheer you up,” Jonah told Thompson, watching the older man’s face.

  Gripping the armrests, Thompson eased his large frame onto his office chair. The way he did it indicated that this was the first time he’d sat down all day. “I’m listening,” he practically bit off.

  Jonah looked at Maggie, indicating that, for better or for worse, this was her story to relate. So she took over. “Jonah and I drove over to Austin to see Elliott Corgan at Randolph State Prison this morning.”

  Thompson received the news with all the joy of being on the receiving end of a gut punch. He scowled at the two people before him.

  “Damn it, I told you two to stay clear of this case! Why the hell didn’t you listen?” he demanded.

  “
It’s not his fault, Chief. I insisted on going and Jonah didn’t want me to go alone,” she said, looking toward Jonah before continuing. “I thought if I could confront Corgan, I could get him to tell me if he killed your sister.”

  “And what did he say?” the chief asked, his expression dark.

  Maggie took a breath. “He said he didn’t do it.”

  “Big surprise,” Thompson commented sarcastically. “Of course he’d deny it. I already told you he denied it when I questioned him,” the chief reminded the two people in his office.

  “I know,” Maggie replied. “But it was the way that he denied it. Like he really wished he could have been the one to have done the deed.”

  “Sick bastard,” the chief muttered under his breath in total disgust.

  “But that’s not all,” Jonah said, injecting his own take on the interview with the serial killer. “When Maggie described the way your sister was buried, that her body was mummified first, Corgan got this look on his face, like he suddenly had a revelation.”

  The chief seemed to come to attention, his whole body growing rigid. “What kind of a revelation?”

  It was Maggie’s turn to speak. “I think he might know who did kill your sister.”

  Thompson looked at her doubtfully. “You sure you’re not just reading things into this?” he questioned, looking from Maggie to Jonah.

  “Very sure,” Maggie answered. “Elliott really enjoys being the center of attention. He likes having an audience and right now, he’s drawing his story out, baiting us until he finally finds the right moment to reveal his information.”

  “And you think he’s going to tell you who this other killer is?” the chief questioned.

  “Yes,” Jonah answered. There was no mistaking his confidence.

  “Well then, let’s go,” Thompson urged, rising up from his chair.

  “I think we should be the ones to go back and talk to him,” Jonah told the chief. “He shut you out once,” he reminded Thompson. “But I get the feeling that he likes bragging and preening in front of Maggie.”