by Jane Graves
The door was unlocked.
The skin prickled on the back of his neck, warning him that he might have miscalculated. Could somebody have left the house and forgotten to lock this door?
Maybe.
He stood there a moment, debating what to do. He knew there was a possibility that somebody could be asleep upstairs, but because there had been no answer to his phone calls, that was unlikely.
He decided he’d just lucked out.
His senses on full alert, he eased the door open and stepped into the pitch-dark house. He pulled a flashlight out of the backpack, flipped it on, and saw that he’d entered a den of some kind. Sweeping the flashlight around the room, he saw a fireplace, then three animal-head trophies hanging on the paneled walls along with several pieces of western art. In front of the fireplace was a zebra-skin rug just like the one in Reichert’s house in Tolosa. Then he panned the flashlight around to an overstuffed leather chair.
It was occupied.
Every muscle in Alex’s body coiled instantly, instinct telling him to reach for his weapon. But it wouldn’t have done any good. In the crook of the man’s arm was a rifle, cocked and ready to fire.
“If you move,” he said, “if you breathe, you’re a dead man.”
chapter twenty-six
Val sat at the dinette table in the cabin, the sheet still wrapped around her, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. There was nothing like a half-hour cry to make her head feel as if it were going to explode.
Her tears had finally stopped. Now she just felt numb.
Alex wanted her to go back to Tolosa. To call Dave. To have him help her through the legal mess that she was sure to encounter. Maybe she should do that.
Maybe she should think about it tomorrow.
She couldn’t come to any conclusions tonight. She just couldn’t. All she wanted to do was sit here and imagine that Alex might change his mind. She wanted to think that maybe he’d go to the ranch, do whatever he intended to do, then slip back through the cabin door and crawl right back into bed with her. She could hope, anyway, right up to the time she woke tomorrow morning and the bed was still empty beside her. Then she’d be forced to make a decision.
Until then, no.
She glanced at her wallet on the table. That, Shannon’s laptop, and the clothes she’d bought at Wal-Mart on the way down here were about all Alex had left her with. And the purse she’d carried last night. She remembered now that it contained a hundred dollars, but the very thought of touching it disgusted her. Still, it was money, and before this was all over with, she’d probably end up needing it.
She pulled out the hundred, thinking back to what Rick had expected her to do to earn it. It had been a horrible experience, one that had brought back some of her most terrible memories. But then Alex had been there, making her feel warm and safe and cherished as no man ever had before, and suddenly everything had been all right.
The man with no heart. Could she have been more wrong about him?
Suddenly she was so tired she felt as if she could barely hold her head up. She started to put the hundred into her wallet. Then she paused. Stared at it. All at once she was wide-awake, every nerve ending humming with disbelief.
An address was written across the face of the bill.
Eighteen thirty-four Augusta Drive.
For the span of several seconds, Val didn’t move. She just stared down at the hundred in rapt disbelief as the events of the past several days whizzed through her mind. Then, like a hurricane-force wind, everything spun around and circled back to the night Shannon had first approached Alex at the Blue Onion.
Now she knew. She knew who the real murderer was.
And it wasn’t Jack Reichert.
“DeMarco. I had a feeling you’d be back. Damned if I wasn’t right.”
The man’s cigarette-hardened voice slithered through the darkness of the den, a voice Alex had no trouble recognizing. He’d heard it last night through the receiver, telling Val the revolting things he expected her to do for the price he was willing to pay.
Rick.
Still dumbstruck at finding himself on the other end of a rifle, Alex let his thoughts race as he tried to get a handle on the situation. But it wasn’t until Rick reached over and flipped on a lamp, then settled back in his chair again, that another jolt of recognition struck Alex.
He’d seen this man before. Years before.
Through a pair of binoculars last night, he hadn’t recognized him. Rick was older now, and he’d grown a beard, probably to hide the long, irregular scar that went from his right ear to his chin. It was the kind of wound that came from the slash of a knife. The kind of wound a man could get in prison if he didn’t watch his back.
Alex had known that Rick was an ex-con. What he hadn’t realized was that he’d been the one to put him in prison six years ago.
Richard Murdock.
Rick.
Alex still didn’t grasp the whole picture. Reichert’s right-hand man was somebody he’d arrested? Could it possibly be a coincidence?
Murdock lit a cigarette and took a long drag, then blew out the smoke. “So tell me, DeMarco. How did you know that I was the one who killed Shannon?”
For the span of several seconds, Alex didn’t breathe. Murdock killed Shannon?
Holy shit.
Alex stared at the man with a calm demeanor, even though his thoughts were racing ninety to nothing. “I didn’t know.”
Every speck of color seemed to drain away from the man’s face. “You didn’t know—”
“I thought Reichert killed his wife.”
Murdock’s jaw twitched, a small, barely visible outward indication of the anger that was undoubtedly raging inside him right now. He’d just needlessly proclaimed his guilt, and was clearly displeased that he’d made such a blatant miscalculation.
“Well, now I guess you know the truth, don’t you? That’s your misfortune.”
Alex didn’t respond.
“Reichert told me you and that little PI had broken into his house in Tolosa, but I had no idea you’d made your way down here.” His lips curled into a thin smile. “Until I got my hands on her last night.”
Anger ignited inside Alex, burning so wildly that it was all he could do not to rush the bastard and take him out with his bare hands. But with his finger wrapped firmly around the trigger of that rifle, Alex didn’t stand a chance. Rick had killed twice already. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
“I didn’t know right away who she was. But then the barn went up in smoke, and she disappeared, and all at once I knew why she’d looked so familiar to me. And I figured if she was in the vicinity, you weren’t far behind. I assume I have you to thank for the fireworks?”
Alex just stared at him, his jaw tight with anger.
“Well. I told you I’d get you one way or the other, DeMarco. I guess this just means my plans have changed a little.”
It took a moment for everything to come together, for Alex finally to realize the truth. And the truth astonished him.
Suddenly Alex remembered Murdock screaming at him six years ago as he was being handcuffed and dragged out of the courtroom: I’ll get you for this, DeMarco. If it’s the last thing I do.
It had been such a dumb, empty threat, and such a cliché that the few times Alex had heard it uttered, he’d disregarded it. How could he have known that Murdock had meant what he said?
“Shannon wasn’t the target, was she?” Alex said. “I was.”
A tiny smile appeared on Murdock’s lips. “You still are.”
“You killed a woman just to frame me?”
“No great loss. She was really beginning to get on my nerves.”
“So you were sleeping with her.”
“Oh, yeah. She married Reichert when she was twenty-two, which didn’t stop her from screwing around with me. When I got out of prison, I went back to working with Reichert, and Shannon wanted to pick up where we’d left off, too. Fortunately, she decided she was i
n love with me, which meant she’d do just about anything I told her to.”
Alex knew this bastard was cold, but he would never have believed that anyone would do something like this.
“Shannon had no idea what she was involved in, did she?” Alex asked.
“She had a lot of assets. A brain wasn’t one of them.”
“How did you get her to bring me to her house?”
“Oh, she knew I was out to get you. I told her I wanted to take pictures of the two of you together to send to your wife. You know. Screw up your marriage.”
“I’m not married.”
“And I didn’t take pictures, did I?”
Then he remembered what Shannon had said: My husband’s out of town. What he and your wife don’t know won’t hurt them.
She’d been nothing but a pawn. An ignorant pawn who had no idea she was being roped into her own murder.
“How does Reichert feel about the fact that you killed his wife?”
“You kidding? He and Angela are ecstatic. He was going to have to pay big bucks to get rid of Shannon in a divorce.”
“Then Reichert knows—”
“No. He still thinks you did it. It just so happens that I got to do him a favor at the same time I framed you.”
“How did you drug me?”
“Tranquilizer. The one we use on the big cats. I wasn’t sure of the dosage, but I managed to get it just about right.”
“I assume you were the one who shot Val back in Tolosa.”
“Can’t believe I missed. Six years in prison really screwed up my aim. They don’t let you take a lot of target practice in there.”
“Why did you do it? She didn’t see anyone but me in Reichert’s house the night of the murder.”
“I had no idea Reichert had hired a PI to tail Shannon. I didn’t think she saw me leave the house, but I couldn’t take any chances. And then the two of you broke into Reichert’s house. I figured that meant you suspected him, so I relaxed a little, drove down here, took care of the hunt. But after last night, when I realized you were in the vicinity, I got to thinking that you were on to me.”
He flicked the end of the rifle. “Toss me that backpack. Nice and easy.”
Alex slid it off his shoulder, knowing he had no way to get to the weapon inside without getting shot. He lobbed the backpack to Murdock. He opened it and looked inside.
“Hmm. Looks like you were planning a little surveillance. Blew it last night, so you thought you’d try again?”
He located Alex’s gun, pulled the magazine out of the handgrip, then tossed the empty weapon aside. He put the magazine in his pocket, then settled back in his chair.
“I figured you’d be back, so I thought I’d wait and see. You called here tonight, what? Three times? Checking to see if anyone was home?” He smiled knowingly. “And now here you are. The bastard of a cop who put me in prison.”
“What am I going to do, Murdock? You kill somebody; I put you away. It’s my job.”
“Well, in just a little while, there’s going to be one less cop on the payroll. And, sooner or later, one less PI getting in the middle of things she shouldn’t. Where is she?”
Alex felt a jolt of apprehension. “She has no idea you’re guilty. She still thinks Reichert did it.”
“Now, I can’t be sure of that, can I?”
“Leave her alone, Murdock.”
“Tell me where she is.”
Alex was silent.
“Never mind. I’ll catch up to her sooner or later. And maybe this time I’ll get to finish what I started last night. Right before I kill her.”
The raging anger Alex felt was eclipsed only by his fear for Val’s life. At this moment, Murdock had no idea where to find her. But since Alex had insisted she return to Tolosa, it wouldn’t be long before he’d have his hands on her again. She’d be looking over her shoulder for Reichert, when Murdock was the real threat.
Goddamn it. He had to find a way to stop this man.
Murdock put a booted foot up on the coffee table. “Tell me. If a couple of bodies were buried out here on this big old ranch, how long do you think it would take for somebody to find them?”
Alex knew the truth. No one would ever find them.
“Okay, DeMarco. Time to get out of the house. This is bound to get a little messy, and I wouldn’t want to get any stains on Reichert’s rugs.”
Alex had to think fast. He could try to overpower Murdock, but the man was nearly as big as he was, with a rifle that he was obviously well versed in the use of. If he ended up dead, he couldn’t do a thing to help Val. But he had to do something soon, or Murdock would kill him.
And Val would be next.
Val stared at the hundred-dollar bill, still unable to believe what she was looking at.
That hundred-dollar bill from the pool game. Did you see her give it to me?
Did you see me give it right back to her?
She’d written her address on it. Her subtle way of suggesting I come home with her.
Val had seen Alex give that hundred back to Shannon. Whoever had it after that had to have taken it from Shannon’s purse the night of the murder.
Then Val remembered the letters.
I can’t wait until you’re free. That was what Shannon had written. Free. As in released. But not from a marriage.
From prison.
Rick.
He was an ex-con. Just released. He could use the same kinds of rifles Reichert did. And tranquilizers, too.
He was Shannon’s killer.
Val had no idea what his motive was, but right now, it didn’t matter. She could tell the Tolosa police that Rick had given her this hundred-dollar bill, which would surely make him a suspect. If the authorities searched the ranch, they might be able to find the animal tranquilizer that matched what had been in Alex’s system the night of the murder, and maybe even the rifle she’d been shot with. Rick would be arrested, and Alex would go free.
Unfortunately, she had nothing that would persuade the local authorities to arrest Rick tonight. She knew it would take getting right into Henderson’s face with the evidence she was holding in her hand before he’d be forced to consider anyone but Alex a suspect.
But right now, Alex could very well be in danger. If he went to that ranch thinking he was going after one man when the real murderer was somebody else, he could make a tactical mistake that could cost him his life.
She yanked up her cell phone and dialed Alex’s number. It went immediately to voice mail.
Damn it. His phone was turned off.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. She had to get out to that ranch. But how? Alex had taken her van, and she had no other transportation. She knew nobody within four hundred miles.
Wait a minute. Yes, she did.
She paused only a moment before picking up the phone again and calling information. She asked for a phone number, then dialed it. The phone rang four times. She heard the telltale stutter of the ring as it forwarded to another number, and a moment later a very sleepy man answered.
“Hello?”
Val took a deep breath, wishing she had more time to think about this. But she had no time. She just had to hope that she wasn’t making a monumental mistake.
“Stanley. This is Valerie Parker. And I really, really need your help.”
chapter twenty-seven
As Stanley drove into the Lakeshore Cabin complex, his hands were shaking. They’d started shaking the moment he hung up the phone after talking to Val, and he didn’t expect them to stop shaking anytime soon.
Damn it. Get a grip, will you?
Val had woken him from a dead sleep and told him some wild story about Alex DeMarco and a hundred-dollar bill and a man on a big ranch west of here who’d really killed the woman DeMarco was accused of killing. Stanley hadn’t exactly followed everything—Val had talked way too fast—but he did hear the part about it maybe being a matter of life and death. And then Val had asked him—no, begged
him—to drive her out to the ranch.
Stanley steered the squad car along the narrow road through the trees, counting off the cabin numbers as he went. He knew a prudent lawman wouldn’t automatically take the word of a known fugitive, and he was pretty damned sure that for the umpteenth time in his life he was getting ready to make a huge mistake. But Val had sounded so desperate that he just hadn’t been able to ignore her.
That’s because you’re a gullible moron.
That was probably true. History would certainly bear that out. But then he’d thought about how she’d brought that water to him before he started that long walk back to town. He’d thought about how she’d told him not to worry, that he wasn’t going to get hurt, and she’d been right. And then he’d thought about how she’d encouraged him to ask Glenda to dance at the celebration, and sure enough, Glenda had said yes. All very nice things.
And so he’d come.
Still, a little voice was whispering to him—that same little voice he often heard right before he screwed something up in a major way. It was telling him that this had to be a setup. That somehow DeMarco would get the better of him, and he’d end up looking like a fool one more time. But he couldn’t think of any scenario under the sun where a fugitive would be dumb enough to call a law enforcement officer and ask him to come pick her up, so surely Val was telling him the truth.
Wasn’t she?
He brought the squad car to a halt two doors down from number sixteen and cut his headlights. Lights were on inside the cabin. He could just make out the form of a woman near the window.
Okay. It wasn’t as if he had to go rushing blindly into the situation. He could hang back. Play it smart. Scope out the cabin. See what was up. Move in slowly. Do everything a sensible officer of the law should do in order to keep control of a situation.
But he hadn’t counted on what happened next.
All at once, the door to the cabin burst open and Val came running out. As she raced toward his car, Stanley was sure that he’d made a deadly mistake. Even though DeMarco wasn’t in sight, he had the terrible feeling that he’d just walked into an ambush. For some reason, DeMarco had put Val up to calling him with that preposterous story, and now he was going to pay for being dumb enough to believe it.
