It Takes a Baby (Superromance)

by Holmes, Dee

  It occurred to her, too, that he was totally out of his element. This wasn’t Rodeo, where he was king and deal maker; there were no deputies here to back up his bullishness. Kathleen assumed that if he didn’t deliver her back to Rodeo, he’d be in major trouble with whoever wanted her to take the fall for Steve’s death.

  The sheriff snarled a string of expletives about her being a smart-ass broad who thought she could hide from the law. Then he pointed his gun at her, gesturing with the barrel that she should go into the bedroom. When she remained in place, he shoved the barrel into her ribs and pushed her with his free hand.

  She gasped at the arrow of pain that zigzagged from rib to rib. She doubled over, moaning, mostly to gain time. He no doubt assumed she’d pull some hysterical trick like begging or pleading. In fact, if she’d thought either would have worked, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

  He gave a sideways glance at the rubble that was once her piano. “Max didn’t waste his talent.”

  “He neglected to tell me his name.” But she filed the name “Max” away in her mind.

  “Dead eyes.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what Steve called him. ‘Dead eyes.’”

  “Steve knew this monster?” Even as she asked the question she realized how ridiculous it sounded. Of course Steve would know him. One lowlife usually had no trouble finding another one.

  “Sure. Max takes care of business. Like a programmed machine.”

  “And who programmed him to destroy my piano? You?”

  “Naw, I don’t care about that stuff. He and the Rainmaker made that deal. I just want you back in Wyoming and in jail for Steve’s murder. Trial will just be a formality. Evidence all points your way, Kathleen.” He chuckled, obviously enjoying his attempt to be official.

  “The evidence is as phony as you are, Sheriff,” she said boldly, knowing that it was true.

  He closed in on her, his lip curling into a smirk. “We all know you did it.”

  “By all, you mean the Rodeo sheriff’s department?” she retorted, gaining courage with every word.

  “Can’t beat witnesses like cops for credibility. Let’s go.”

  But she didn’t move. “They couldn’t witness what I didn’t do.”

  “You talk too much.”

  “I want to know who shot Steve.”

  “Yeah? Well, we’ll find a mirror, and when you look closely, you’ll find a skinny-boned woman named Kathleen Hanes.” He laughed then, a sound that had all the humor of fingernails on a blackboard.

  Kathleen sucked in a breath, determined. “Who shot Steve? Was it you? One of the other deputies?”

  “You think I’m gonna tell you that?”

  Kathleen clamped down on her excitement. He’d as much as admitted she’d been set up. Now if she could just bluff her way into getting him to say more. “What if I said I knew who the real killer was? What if I told you that I overheard you and Cory talking while Steve lay dead on floor?”

  He paled, then turned a dark red. “You weren’t there. You’d been gone for hours.”

  “But I came back.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “How else would I know that you and Cory were there?”

  He looked flustered, as if he needed someone wiser to tell him what to do. “What did you hear?”

  “That Cory killed Steve.”

  He sputtered. “Cory? That mealy-livered coward couldn’t set a wolf trap by himself. Job like that goes to the best man, and that ain’t Cory. Gotta have a man who knows how to handle himself.”

  “You?” She whispered the challenge, easing it out as if it were the most powerful word in existence.

  He cocked his gun.

  “It was you,” she said very softly. Maybe in the back of her mind she’d known all along. Steve had told her that Faswell liked money, liked to gamble, was always looking for new ways to pay his gambling debts. When he had cash, he liked to flash it and hang out with guys who played just beyond the edge of the law.

  Faswell glared at her. “Hanes talked too much. Blabbin’ like a drunken bum to people he had no business talking to.”

  “So you killed him to shut him up.”

  “He was a drunk who couldn’t stay silent. The Rainmaker’s operation is too smooth and too cash-rich to get screwed by a talkative drunk. I got sent to do the job because I’m the one who could get away with it. Just like I’m the one who’s gonna take you back. Gonna get a lotta C-notes for bringing you in, Kathleen, baby, so you’re sucking at a dry hole if you think I’m gonna let you get away this time.” He rocked back on his heels a bit, his chest puffed out with self-importance.

  Her newly discovered knowledge combined with inner grit gathered momentum. “And just what reason do I have to do as you ask, Sheriff? To save my own life? According to you, I’m going to prison. Hardly a pleasant future to look forward to. To stop you from killing me? Go ahead. Right now I’m not terribly sure what I’m living for, anyway. Surely not this nightmare I’m in.”

  He started shaking his head, amusement softening his face. “I’m not going to kill you, and you’re going to return willingly with me to Wyoming. And what’s even better, you’re going to forget this incident and our conversation.”

  He was so calm, so sure, new terror stole into her mind.

  “What? No questions? No show of bravery? No innocent outrage?” He chuckled. “Poor Kathleen. She has Steve’s killer complete with confession and she isn’t going to tell anyone.” He moved closer to her. “Want to know why?” She wanted to say yes, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “I believe one is named Clarke and on his way to becoming some star in Hollywood. And the other is named Gary.”

  “My brothers?”

  “Got guys waiting to take them down if they don’t see me with you, and you singing like a birdie.”

  “My God.”

  “This is the big leagues, Kathleen. Too much of the Rainmaker’s operation is at stake to lose out because one female refuses to confess. We go back, you tell your story as it should be told and your brothers stay alive. Now move on into the bedroom.”

  Defeat covered her like a suffocating blanket, and she moved slowly as Faswell told her what to do. Why had she ever thought she could win? There were no witnesses, no handy hidden tape recorder—it was just the sheriff’s word against hers. And who would believe her? She’d run and she’d hidden and by doing so, had acted guilty. And now even her brothers were in danger.

  A few minutes later, in her bedroom, she remembered the speeding ticket. It was her only proof that she couldn’t have been at the house when Steve was killed. The speeding ticket meant her freedom. She had to hide it so that the sheriff wouldn’t know.

  “Would you mind waiting outside while I change clothes?”

  He laughed. “You think I’m stupid? No way I’m gonna chance you climbing out the window.” He pushed her toward the clothes she’d been unpacking. That now seemed like eons ago. Then, for good measure, he shoved the chair near the window. “Get dressed. Put them jeans on.” He sat down, stretched his legs out and aimed his weapon at her.

  His gaze surveyed the room and came to rest on the box where she had dropped the ticket. Before she could stop him, Faswell dragged it toward him and fished through the papers while Kathleen held her breath. Please, don’t let him find it. Please!

  Her heart fell when he did, and just as instantly, rage burst inside her.

  She flew at him, trying to seize the flimsy paper, but he knocked her aside. She fell against the footboard of the bed, immediately got back on her feet and went after him again.

  This time he gripped her wrist and snarled, “Back away or I’ll break your arm.” He yanked and twisted until she began to lose focus from the pain.

  He tore up the ticket, put it in a small china dish and lit a match to it. Kathleen squeezed her eyes closed and fought the roll of nausea that gripped her.

  “You thought I didn’t know about the t
icket? Found out weeks ago. But being a good guy, I got it fixed for you. You got a nice clear driving record.”

  Kathleen sank down on the bed in defeat.

  He peered at his watch. “Get dressed. I want to be out of this place in ten minutes.”

  She turned so he wouldn’t see her tears. Her options had all run out.

  “BOOTH RAWLINGS?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Detective Booth Rawlings?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Name is Mason Knight. You don’t know me, but I’ve been watching Kathleen, and you should know she’s been caught.”

  Booth gripped the phone, signaling to his sister to finish tending to Lisa.

  “Caught by who? Where? And what in hell are you doing watching her?”

  “Take it easy. I’m on your side. I’m out at her place. There’s a man with a gun. My wife is working her way around to try and get inside—”

  “Don’t do anything, and tell your wife not to,” Booth ordered. “I’ll be right there.”

  Booth dropped the receiver in the cradle, told Darlene to take Lisa to his mother’s and headed to his bedroom. “What’s going on?” she shouted after him.

  He took his .357 from the closet shelf, pulled on a denim jacket to conceal it and grabbed his car keys as he headed toward the door.

  “Booth?” His sister stood holding Lisa, her eyes wide and worried.

  “Take her and go back to Mom’s. I’ll call later.”

  “Is Kathleen in trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  He raced down the steps and climbed into his Explorer. He fired the engine, jammed it into first gear and sped down the street, leaving the scream of peeling tires behind him.

  The six miles from his place to the carriage house passed while his mind raced from fury at himself that he’d left her alone to fury at her for being so damned stubborn. That was quickly followed by terror that whatever the hell was going on, he’d get there too late.

  He swung into the drive, then jammed on the brakes. Okay, cool it, get it together. You’re not going to help her by barging in like some sweat-soaked rookie. He called for backup, emphasizing no sirens, no lights.

  Booth parked the sports-utility vehicle so that anyone trying to leave would have to drive through it, over it, or smash down the ten-foot privacy shrubs planted in thick dense rows.

  He got out, silently closed the door and moved forward. That was when he saw the expensive cream-colored car with Georgia plates. Either Kathleen had some mysterious guardian angel or the Knights were two kooks with a lot of time on their hands.

  Mason Knight was crouched down by the right front tire, making Booth think of a redheaded frog in horn-rims. His wife, wearing a billowy pink dress and dangling earrings, looked oddly flamboyant for a morning of spying in windows. She grinned at Booth as if they were old roommates. Something familiar about her caught at his memory. In her hand was a camera with a heavy strap and a long lens.

  Booth ignored his inner questions for the urgent ones. “Where is Kathleen?”

  “He’s making her get dressed.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Seems to be. Someone chopped up her piano.”

  “What?”

  “Looks like an ax did the job.”

  Booth felt his stomach turn with a sickening twist. “She’s okay, not hurt or cut?” he asked again, needing to hear it one more time.

  “Didn’t appear to be.”

  “I’m going to take a look.”

  Booth moved along a row of wisteria, spotting a rental car that had been camouflaged by the curve of a stockade fence. He was familiar enough with the layout of the carriage house to guess which window belonged to the bedroom. He held his weapon tight against his side and moved slowly and silently.

  The window was open and he heard the unfamiliar Midwestern accent.

  “Hurry up,” the man snapped.

  “I am.”

  “I don’t have all day. Our plane leaves in a few hours.”

  Booth moved closer to the window, plastering himself against the shingled side of the house.

  He considered climbing in but quickly nixed the idea. The man would hear him, and it would be too risky for Kathleen. He ducked beneath the window casing and made his way around to the door just as he saw his two backups emerge from the drive. He signaled them, and one sprinted silently across the lawn.

  Booth said, “Kelly, I’m going to try to get inside. He has Kathleen in the bedroom.”

  “Something just came in,” Kelly whispered. “You know that deputy named Cory that you talked to? He just called back and said that he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Kathleen was stopped for speeding about hundred miles from her house on the day of the murder. The time is so close as to make it impossible according to the autopsy report for her to have been even in the vicinity of Rodeo. Cory said the sheriff learned of the ticket and got it expunged from the record. I got in touch with the Wyoming state police and they assured me that if a ticket was issued, they would find it. I just called in, and the officer who stopped her remembers her and has turned over his own logbook.”

  Booth felt such a drain of relief, his knees were shaky. “I think I’m beginning to believe in miracles.”

  “Or you got the hole in the case you’ve been looking for.”

  Booth grinned. “Yeah.”

  Kelly went back to join the other officer, circling around so that one of them covered Booth and the other could go in through the window once Kathleen was out of the bedroom.

  Inside, Booth saw the piano, the pieces scattered and flung across the room. His first thought was gratitude that it was the piano and not Kathleen, but the vandal had probably planned it that way. Whoever he was, he’d deliberately left her alive to witness it and make her understand that she was in danger of the same kind of treatment if she gave them trouble.

  Booth positioned himself and his weapon, using his hand to push aside the debris. One of the other officers entered the house and flattened himself by the door. From the bedroom exit, neither cop could be seen.

  A minute passed.

  Three minutes.

  Then six.

  Finally Kathleen came out wearing jeans and that same sweatshirt. A canvas bag he’d seen her carry before was slung over her shoulder. His first thought was that she’d taken ten times more things when they’d gone to the picnic. The man behind her held his gun mere inches from her spine. It took all Booth’s control not to shoot the slimy bastard. She made a wide path around the butchered piano, and Booth noted she kept her gaze down, as if looking for something.

  The man hesitated as if he thought it might be a trick when she stopped by the bench. Kathleen lifted the top of the hinged seat and removed a handful of sheet music that Booth remembered had belonged to her mother.

  Booth crouched, sweeping his hand across the floor.

  Come on, babe, come on. Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

  He waited, his patience at the limit, his fear real. She was too vulnerable, and with this bastard ready to do anything to make sure he left here with her, Booth knew his own timing had to be utterly precise.

  Kathleen continued slowly, the bag on her shoulder slipping, and when she reached to adjust it, the sheet music slipped from her arms to the floor. When she knelt to retrieve it, Booth moved.

  With the lightning strike of a rattlesnake he flung a handful of wood splinters into the man’s face.

  “Yow!”

  While the man scrambled to get the stuff out of his eyes, Booth darted forward, and his boot caught the weapon, sending it high and wide. It hit the floor with a thud and slid a good ten feet away.

  The man swung around and came at Booth, head-butting him. Kathleen screamed and the other officer pulled her to safety. Booth fought with the man, rolling and gaining an advantage, then losing it only to gain it again.

  Finally he wrestled the man onto his belly and yanked his hands around and pinned them.

  �
��Hey, man, you don’t know what you’re doin’. I’m Sheriff Buck Faswell. I came to take the Hanes woman back for trial. She killed her husband.”

  “Yeah? Then how come you didn’t notify the Crosby police?”

  “I was goin’ to, but I didn’t want her to get away. Been after her for weeks.”

  “Too bad you wasted the trip, because she isn’t guilty of anything except ignoring a speeding ticket.”

  Faswell twisted around and looked at him sharply.

  “Bingo,” Booth said, enjoying the drain of color from Faswell’s face.

  “No way. There ain’t no ticket. I, uh—Someone looked after it.”

  Booth took even greater pleasure in his next comment. “You might have fixed it locally, but the state police have a record. You’re cooked, Faswell.”

  The two other officers got him cuffed against his continued protests. Kelly asked, “Booth, what about that couple outside?”

  “Send them in.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. If it hadn’t been for them, Faswell would have taken Kathleen.”

  As he talked, Kathleen was circling the carpet, examining the broken instrument. She came to a stop at the place where they’d made love.

  Booth walked over and cupped his hand around the back of her neck. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s so painful to look at, it’s like part of my heart was cut up.”

  Booth turned her so that she couldn’t see the rubble. “You know, most women would have been so relieved that the guy wielding the gun was in custody, they’d have rushed into my arms.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes a little glassy, the events of the past hours just beginning to take their toll. “I knew you’d get here in time.”

  “Yeah? And how did you know that?”

  “I just knew. In my heart I knew.”

  Her trust filled him with joy. It supported his own instincts about her innocence, but then it had gone even further—it guaranteed her freedom.