The Strong, Silent Type

by Jule McBride

  When her gaze landed on her own reflection, Alice still couldn’t believe she was even here, waiting for Leland, the justice of the peace and Sheriff Sawyer. She wished the sheriff wasn’t going to be present, but he was an old family friend. While it was difficult for him to see his daughter’s boyfriend marry another woman, he’d said he wanted to come. And Alice’s mother had invited him.

  Alice felt a sudden rush of temper. She’d had countless run-ins with Sheriff Sawyer since Jan’s murder—all because he wouldn’t take another tack during the investigation, and assume Dylan’s innocence, rather than his guilt. That meant Sheriff Sawyer was the last person she wanted witnessing her vows to Leland. For years he’d been a family friend, yes. But times had changed.

  Oh, how they’ve changed!

  The phone rang again. “Dammit,” she burst out, swiftly grabbing the phone receiver again. “Who is this!”

  More of that damnable breathing came over the line. She twisted the phone cord angrily in her hand. “What? Are you getting a big kick out of this? What’s your problem? I dare you to say something.”

  The breathing stopped. Alice tilted her head. Was he actually going to talk this time? Was this a reporter or not?

  “Alice?”

  Everything inside her went totally still. She felt as if her heart had ceased beating. She’d know that voice anywhere. Which was why she could barely find her own. She gasped. “Dylan?”

  There was a long pause, then, “Yeah, darlin’.”

  Alice’s heart pumped so fast her ears rang. Feeling faint, she grasped the desk’s edge and sank into an armchair, her toe catching the waste can and nearly overturning it. Was this really Dylan? Where was he? All this time, she’d been so sure he was dead. What had happened? Why had he run away after the wedding? Dear God, thank you. He’s not dead. The words played over and over in her mind. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. Her voice shook. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

  Only heavy breathing came over the line.

  Maybe she’d heard wrong. Her eyes narrowed, and for an instant she didn’t trust her own gut instincts. Had wishful thinking made her think she’d heard Dylan’s voice? “Dylan?”

  “I killed Jan...”

  Alice barely heard what followed. She clutched the phone so tightly her knuckles whitened. Gaping, she forced herself to listen. She simply sat there like a doll, feeling unable to move or speak. Did Dylan Nolan just say he killed Jan? Is he crazy? Why’s he saying this?

  “I liked it.” The words were followed by a long pause and more forced breathing, then he rambled, “I cut her with a knife. She started gushing. She bled like a pig. You know how that feels, Alice? Warm, that’s how. And good. It felt real good.”

  There was a catching breath that could have been a laugh; the sound brought bile rising into Alice’s throat. She still couldn’t speak. Or put down the phone. She’d frozen like ice. This wasn’t really Dylan! It sounded like him, but she’d made a mistake. A terrible mistake! Beneath her hand, the phone was turning slick with sweat.

  “I pushed the knife in,” he continued raspily. “In and out. When it came out, it came easy, all greased up with blood. And you know what else, Alice?”

  She waited, told herself not to, but then she couldn’t stop herself from saying the word. “What?”

  “I thought it was you. I said to myself, ‘Dylan, you’re gonna cut your pretty little wife. Because she’s not so innocent. Yeah, you’ll show them all how she really is. Cut her until her white dress stinks with blood.’ C’mon, Alice. Come with me now. I want to cut you. So, let’s go through the looking glass. But don’t break it when you jump through. Because the glass’ll cut...cut...cut...”

  The phone slid from her hand. Cracking against the desk, it tumbled to the carpeted floor, hitting with a muted thud. Grabbing the waste can, Alice dry-heaved, a hard pounding coming into her head from the effort while, crablike, her fingers moved over the floor. Fumbling, she found the phone again. Just as she brought it to her ear, she heard a click, then the dial tone.

  Bringing the phone fully into her lap, she clutched it for long moments. For a second she could have sworn it was Dylan’s voice. And she’d felt such relief. Had so many questions...

  But he didn’t kill Jan!

  “It wasn’t him. It really wasn’t. Couldn’t have been,” she whispered.

  Tears stung her eyes. Her helpless gaze darted to the window. Sheriff Sawyer would be here any minute. She didn’t like the sheriff, but maybe she should try to talk to him again. And yet what could she tell him? That a man who sounded like Dylan called and confessed to Jan’s murder?

  “He sounded like Dylan,” Alice whispered aloud again in a reedy voice. “He did. Oh, God, he really did.”

  And he said he was Dylan.

  Oh, Alice! Don’t you start believing it, too. Dylan Nolan was never capable of murder! He didn’t do it. That wasn’t him on the phone. Most probably, he’d really been killed by the same person who killed Jan on the day of the wedding. If he was alive, he would have contacted Alice before now. And he certainly wouldn’t have called to say...

  I killed Jan and I want to kill you, too.

  She couldn’t remember the exact words, but she could still feel the terror. The shout that sounded from downstairs made her jump. “Alice?”

  It was Leland. Her heart was still racing, her hands still shaking. “Be right there!”

  “Who was on the phone, hon?”

  “Uh...another hang-up call.”

  She thought she heard Leland say, “I’m gonna sue that dam paper.”

  Her hands trembling, Alice put the phone on the desk again. She didn’t know how long she simply sat there, but the sudden ee-aw, ee-aw of a siren sounded, startling her. Hopping up, she nervously crossed to the window. Sheriff Sawyer’s county car was stopped at the ranch gate. She shuddered. Who had called? And with whom could she discuss the call? She didn’t want to further build a case against Dylan. And Leland was supportive, but recently he’d made clear that they had to move on with their lives....

  Is the caller watching us?

  Fear flooded her as his words came back. She bled like a pig. And you know what, Alice? I thought she was you.... The man on the phone knew where she lived. In addition to knowing the phone number at the main house, he probably knew how to reach her cottage.

  And he said he meant to kill me.

  Swallowing hard, she watched the sheriffs car leave the ranch gate. Because of the slush and ice, he drove slowly up the long straight driveway. As much as she needed to talk, she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t listen. He’d do what he’d done for the past year and a half—hear only what he wanted to.

  “I was wrong about the voice,” Alice whispered. “It wasn’t Dylan. It just couldn’t be.” Sure, it had sounded like him. But face it, Alice hadn’t always been able to think straight. After Jan’s murder and Dylan’s disappearance, she’d fallen apart, hadn’t she? People worried that she’d never really be herself again. Hadn’t she taken to her bed, losing herself in a haze? Staring from the window into the sheriff’s high beams, she watched the slow movements of the windshield wipers.

  Suddenly she squinted. A figure darted through the snow. He was running beside the trees along the driveway, and without knowing it, he was heading straight toward the sheriff’s car!

  Somebody outside shouted, and Alice realized a second man was chasing the first, probably one of the cowhands from the bunkhouse. Swiftly, she pushed up the window. A blast of arctic air came in the room, making the tieback curtains billow.

  “Stop!” the cowhand shouted again.

  Seemingly, the man was fleeing the property. He was wrenched around, staring over his shoulder at his pursuer, not watching where he was going. Alice’s mouth opened in mute warning as the man burst through the trees, onto the driveway. The sheriff’s headlights blinded him. He threw up an arm, but already the car was too close. Trying to save himself, the man jumped up, lunging onto
the hood. Momenturn made him roll. His head hit the windshield, which cracked, then shattered. The car swerved; the sheriff braked, throwing the car into a spin on the ice. Now the man’s limp body glanced off the hood.

  Adrenaline surged through Alice. Turning, she ran. As if propelled by a force outside herself, she was barely aware she was moving. Her breath heaved, and her high heels caught on the carpet as she took the stairs. Only now did she register what the man looked like. He was gloveless and hatless. Long-haired, and wearing worn jeans too light for the biting Wyoming winter. Probably a vagrant trying to find shelter in one of the ranch’s outbuildings. It would hardly be the first time some poor soul had come out here, looking for a place to stay. “Leland!” Alice shrieked.

  She didn’t wait for a response. Grabbing a coat slung over the banister, she pulled it on. Outside, icy air hit her. Her stockings were sheer, and she needed a parka, not this dress coat. Her fancy shoes sank into the chilly slush. Not that she noticed. Alice simply ran, the way she always had when someone was in trouble.

  Up ahead, the sheriff was getting out of the car, looking dazed, the wire of a radio stretched from his hand. He was talking into the mouthpiece.

  “Is he all right?” Alice shouted.

  “Sheriff Sawyer’s calling an ambulance!” She was close enough to recognize the cowhand kneeling beside the injured man, who was sprawled on his face in the slush. The cowhand shrugged helplessly. “I caught this guy lurking around the back of the house, Alice. Did you tell Leland?”

  “He’s coming.” Alice fell to her knees beside both men, thankful that the professional in her was taking over, the crisis was putting distance between her and the phone call she’d just received. In the last year, she’d learned to thrive on crises. In fact, the more time she spent in the ER at the River Run Hospital, the better she felt. Emergencies meant Alice didn’t have too much time to think.

  I killed Jan and I want to kill you, too.

  Alice pushed aside the voice that was still playing in her head. “Here,” she said, prodding the injured man with her ungloved hands. “Help me. We’re going to slowly roll him over. I need to get a look at his head.”

  The cowhand looked nervous. “Shouldn’t we wait?”

  “For the ambulance?” Alice shook her head decisively. She could already see where blood was matting into the man’s thick, wavy black hair. “No, c’mon. Careful there...” Gently, she urged the man’s body over.

  Even as she probed the gash on his head, she couldn’t help noticing the soft, silken texture of his raven hair. Or that he’d be devastatingly handsome, if he weren’t so thin. But the face was gaunt, chiseled by slashes of hard bone. He had high cheekbones, hollow cheeks, but his lips were unusually full. He suddenly groaned, the lush lips parting, exposing teeth oddly perfect for an indigent. His thick jet eyelashes fluttered. And then he opened his eyes.

  For the second time that day, everything in Alice stilled.

  She’d never seen this man. But she knew the eyes. Or thought she did. Yes...she’d know those liquid brown eyes anywhere. They were eyes that belonged to a man accused of murder. A man she loved. A man whose voice she’d only thought she’d heard tonight. It was this man whose disappearance had filled her heart with so much terror-and whose reappearance now filled her eyes with tears.

  “Dylan,” she gasped. “My God, it’s Dylan.”

  Chapter Three

  Was he in a jail cell? No, a hospital. He was sure of that much because harsh astringents and alcohol filled his senses, and the scent of strong cheap detergent from the sheets. But was he lying on a table? No...a bed. He had to think back, to remember what had happened. How badly was he hurt?

  “Get a picture from that side.”

  Through shut eyes, he felt the white poof of a camera’s flash, and then aftershocks of pulsing, pounding heat on his brain. What the hell were they photographing here? His mind? Wincing, he tried to open his eyes, but the fluorescent light in the room was worse, blinding. Some time ago, he could have sworn he felt people toying with his hands. Had they been fingerprinting him?

  A woman said, “His pulse is—”

  He didn’t hear the rest. A stabbing pain shot through his head. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t lift his hand to touch it. The all-consuming, body-numbing pain was too excruciating, like nothing he’d ever felt. In addition to that, the painkiller they’d given him was dragging him down, making it hard to think. Fighting a rush of queasiness, he felt himself going further under—deeper, then deeper. Dammit, he had to stay alert. He had to hear what people were saying.

  But no one said anything. A wave of darkness washed over him, making him drift again, float. Damn them for giving him drugs that fogged his mind. Don’t shut your eyes. Don’t ever shut your eyes. Keep them open or you’ll die.

  Where had he heard those words? Who had spoken them? Thought them? Had it been him? He couldn’t remember. In his mind, he felt as if he was screaming, but he knew he wasn’t making a sound. For a second, there was only the pain, and then the sinking sensation again. Dark murky water seemed to wash over his open eyes, but they were really shut.

  “Hold still,” someone said.

  Had he moved? He felt sure his arms and legs were restrained. Yes, he thought he could feel straps on his wrists. But maybe that was just an IV. Or...

  Wait a minute. Had he been arrested? Had they really just fingerprinted him? And could you arrest an injured man? He wasn’t sure.

  He’d been running; he remembered that much now. Someone had been chasing him, gaining on him. But he’d kept running, his shoulders aching from the frigid cold, his knees stiff, his lungs hurting from stabs of icy air. He’d wrenched his head around so he could keep tabs on his pursuer. As his pounding feet hit the paved, tree-lined driveway, he’d gasped. Suddenly, blinding white light had filled his vision. Headlights, he’d realized, just a foot away.

  “Leave him alone. I want everybody to leave him alone now. I’ll take care of him.”

  Alice.

  She was here! That was her voice. Now more pieces fell into place. She was why he’d come here. He’d been outside the ranch house, hidden behind a tree. Staring through the window, he’d been watching her. The cowhand had caught him, and then he’d gotten scared. He’d run...

  Now he had to see her, but opening his eyes hurt too much. He moaned. He wanted—no, deserved—to touch her. She was so close now. If she leaned, he could catch her scent.

  Such a pretty little wife. I’ll cut her sweet flesh into ribbons.

  The words played in his mind.

  And suddenly, the pain returned—stabbing and stabbing at his head—stealing his consciousness, making everything go black.

  “ALICE. you’d better stop right there.”

  Lengthening her strides, she continued down the long corridor, toward the nurse’s station, with Sheriff Sawyer gaining on her.

  “Alice, I said stop.”

  Realizing he wasn’t giving up, she forced herself to turn around. Over the sheriffs shoulder, she could see into the injured man’s room. He was slowly collecting himself, swinging his long, jeans-clad legs over the side of the bed, holding his head with both hands.

  All Alice wanted to do was stare, but she pretended not to pay too much attention to him. “It’s late,” she said. “And I’m tired.” Her head was pounding from emotion and lack of sleep, her mouth tasted like stale coffee, and her dress shoes had started to pinch. For hours, Sheriff Sawyer had been giving her far more flack than she was prepared to take. Now Alice just wanted to put the wounded man into her car and get out of here. He’d been cleaned up, but he was still a mess. He was bruised; his gashed head was bandaged. Shattered glass from the windshield had left a deep cut on his thigh.

  She glanced around the hallway. Lights from the fluorescent tubes overhead bounced off the glossy white walls and polished tiles; squinting against them, she stared steadily back at the sheriff. “What exactly do you want from me?”

  “Yo
u know what I want.”

  She shrugged. “This is none of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” He stopped in front of her, black eyes blazing. He was formidable, a big muscle-bound man with a quick temper. Thrusting a stubby-fingered hand through waves of thick, once-jet hair that was now silver, he continued, “I think you’ve got some more explaining to do.”

  “Explaining?” Alice’s temper rose a notch. “I’m not a kid anymore, Sheriff Sawyer. And you’ve got no right to take this tone with me.” She struggled to calm her voice. She had to. For Dylan’s sake. Her gaze settled over the sheriffs shoulder, where a doctor was reexamining the man’s head. “That man’s got a concussion,” she managed to say. “Otherwise, he’s pretty bruised up and in pain. He needs someone to watch him tonight, and to administer medication. The hospital can’t keep him anymore. You heard. Ten minutes ago there was a four-car pileup on the interstate, and they need the few beds they’ve got left.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which means you should be headed over to the interstate.”

  Sheriff Sawyer’s jaw set. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  His careful scrutiny made Alice’s insides hitch with anxiety. She leaned back against the wall, adopting a casual stance, but really steadying herself. “Look. There were no insurance cards in his wallet, and the poor guy says he’s got no coverage.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sheriff Sawyer looked as if he wanted to call her bluff. “And that’s why you’re so intent on helping him?”

  “I always help people.” That much was true. Alice had a natural inclination for service work, which was why she’d gone into nursing. Of course, tonight was something different. She didn’t understand how, but the injured man was Dylan Nolan. His face was completely different, he’d lost weight...but the eyes were his.

  Sheriff Sawyer nodded. “Uh-huh,” he said again. “And so you want to take a stranger home? To your cottage? Not even to the bunkhouse, so the hands can watch him?”