Wiping away tears, Cristine continued. “I told her he raped me. I lied to protect myself and made my best friend hate her own father.” At that, she started wailing again.
Zoe crouched down next to Cristine, wondering if she should try to take the weapon away. A sideways glance showed Cristine had her finger curled around the trigger. The wrong move could cause the gun to go off.
“I miss her so much,” Cristine wailed. “She was special.”
“Shayna was amazing,” Zoe agreed, trying to ease the tightness in her chest as she exhaled. She couldn’t stop trembling, and even had to curl her hands into fists so Cristine wouldn’t notice. Where in the hell were the police? “I loved Shayna like a sister, too. I know how you feel.”
Cristine’s expression darkened, letting Zoe know she’d said the wrong thing. “You absolutely do not know how I feel.”
While Zoe watched, her heart in her throat, Cristine lifted her pistol. She cocked her head and studied it as if she expected the weapon to give her the answers she clearly needed.
Making little moaning sounds of deep distress, Cristine raised the gun to her head, and then swiveled and pointed it directly at Zoe.
Crap. Zoe froze. For the first time Zoe realized Cristine could shoot her, too. Nothing like a little murder-suicide to make a statement.
“Please don’t aim that at me,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “It scares me.”
To her relief, Cristine lowered the pistol back to her lap, though she kept it in a tight grip.
Heart pounding, Zoe tried to think, aware she had to do her absolute best to defuse the situation. “You’re right. I have no idea how you feel,” Zoe agreed quietly. “You and Shayna were extraordinarily close. I hadn’t seen her in five years. I just meant...well, that I loved her.”
Just like that, Cristine deflated. “I loved her more,” she said in a broken whisper, hanging her head. “Shayna was everything to me. We were more than best friends. She was my...idol. I would have done anything for her. I never wanted her to get hurt. The thing with Marshall was just a fling. I wasn’t serious. I felt awful, you have to believe me.”
“Yet not awful enough to tell her the truth?”
Cristine stared at her, eyes narrowed. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Sorry.” Zoe kept her tone mild. “I know Shayna cared about you, and that’s good enough for me,” she lied.
Apparently mollified, Cristine nodded. “My poor, sweet Shayna. What happened was an accident. I never wanted her to die.”
At the choice of phrase, a sickening suspicion made Zoe’s stomach lurch. Cristine spoke like a woman on the verge of making a confession. Had she been the one who’d killed Shayna? Surely not.
Still, stranger things had happened.
Gripping her hands tightly together, Zoe took a deep breath and waited. She didn’t want to risk ruining the moment.
But instead of elaborating, Cristine began weeping again, the same great gulping sobs that sounded as if her heart were being ripped from her body. “I miss her so damn much.”
Zoe let her cry, her own eyes filling at the raw emotion. She’d never liked Cristine much, but she could definitely empathize with the other woman’s pain.
Eventually, though, it became clear if she wanted to hear more, she’d have to prod Cristine. Carefully.
“I wonder what actually happened to our Shayna,” Zoe mused. “Mama Bell has been beside herself. This not knowing is killing her. All the medical examiner has been able to determine is that she died of blunt-force trauma. Like she was run over by a car or something.”
At Zoe’s words, which were absolutely true, Cristine winced and began sobbing even harder. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“What did you do?” Zoe asked, praying she was wrong. For a few moments, Cristine continued to cry, too distraught to talk.
Briefly, Zoe again considered trying to take the pistol away from her but discarded the idea as too dangerous. Instead, she let Cristine cry it out, praying she wouldn’t do anything foolish.
Finally, her sobs began to decrease in intensity. Wiping at her mascara-rimmed eyes with her free hand, she sniffled. “Honest to God, I didn’t mean to hurt her. She called me from the lake, after she and Mike hooked up. I was drunk. Too drunk to drive. I realize that now. But she needed a ride home, so I drove out to get her.”
“But her cell phone didn’t show any calls,” Zoe put in.
“I erased them from her phone,” Cristine managed. “I’m sure Roger’s office must have subpoenaed the records. It’s only a matter of time until he figures out I was the last person to see Shayna alive.”
Dizzy, Zoe clutched the door frame. She swallowed hard. “After you picked her up, what happened?”
In the distance, a siren sounded. About damn time, Zoe thought. What had taken them so long?
The siren grew closer. Louder. Unmistakably on the way there, to Cristine’s house.
Immediately, Cristine stiffened. “Did you call the police?” she asked, her voice suddenly dangerously level.
“Yes. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Zoe answered. “I called 911 on the way over here.”
“Call them back,” Cristine ordered, her monotone voice more worrisome than if she’d been screaming.
“And tell them what?” Zoe asked, hoping that meant Cristine was giving up the idea of suicide.
“Tell them to stay away.” Raising the pistol, Cristine pointed it directly at Zoe. “This is loaded and the safety is off. Tell them to stay outside, or I’ll kill you.”
* * *
After Zoe had gotten into her car, Brock had turned and gone back into the sheriff’s office. Agnes didn’t even look up as he passed the front desk. There were a few more things he wanted to discuss with the sheriff.
As far as Brock was concerned, Roger Giles had better get on the ball and find Shayna’s killer. Hell, now that he had whoever had shot at Zoe and Brock, Roger should be able to find out who had hired the guy and why.
Roger needed to do his damn job. Brock tried to put aside his personal feelings about the other man. If he could temporarily forget that the sheriff had hit on Zoe, he could admit he’d always thought Roger did a pretty good job as an officer of the law.
Until now. This entire Shayna thing had lots of town folks doubting their sheriff’s abilities. Brock knew how their old sheriff Renee would have handled it. She’d have called a press conference, invited some of the bigger news stations from Dallas, and even Houston, and subtly put the heat on the killer.
Roger preferred a more understated method, apparently.
And the way Brock felt, they’d just about run out of time. No way was he letting Zoe risk her life doing something the elected sheriff should be able to do.
He found Roger still in his office, going over paperwork. Not only did the sheriff have a large stack in front of him, but his in-box was overflowing, as well.
“Hey.”
Roger looked up from his desk but didn’t stand. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, the sheriff hadn’t been getting much sleep.
“What can I do for you, Brock?” Roger asked. “I thought we were done.”
“We were, but I got to thinking. I have a couple of scenarios I wanted to run by you. Do you have a minute? I’d like to go over the case with you.”
“Sure.” Indicating a chair, Roger grimaced. “We’ll have to make it short. I’m pretty busy.”
Brock had just taken a seat and was about to start talking when Agnes rushed into the room.
“Sheriff,” she said, wide-eyed. “Zoe Onella just called. Cristine Haywood is threatening to commit suicide. Zoe’s on her way there now. I’ve sent a patrol car, but I thought you’d want to know.”
�
�Damn it.” Roger jumped to his feet. “Call the patrol and tell them to wait outside until I get there. Tell them I’m on my way.”
“I’m going with you,” Brock said, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.
Roger took one look at his face and nodded. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Sirens blaring and lights flashing, they made it across town in ten minutes. The marked patrol car had already arrived and sat parked in front of Cristine Haywood’s trim brick house. Both uniformed officers emerged from the car as the Sheriff screeched to a halt.
“Have you made contact?” Roger barked.
“No, sir. We tried the house phone and it just rings, unanswered. Her cell goes directly to voice mail.”
Brock stepped forward. “Call Zoe,” he said. “Or let me. She can fill us in on what’s going on.”
Jaw tight, Roger jerked his head toward Brock. “You call her. She’ll feel more comfortable talking to you.”
Immediately, Brock pulled out his phone and dialed Zoe’s number.
After four rings, Zoe answered. She sounded tentative, nervous and stressed.
“Is everything all right in there?” Brock asked.
“No.”
Swallowing hard, Brock inhaled. “The sheriff and his men are here. Can we come in?”
“I—” In the background, Brock could hear Cristine demanding Zoe hand her the phone.
Then Cristine came on the line. “Who is this?”
Brock identified himself.
“You tell the cops to stay outside, do you understand?” she said, her tone even and composed. “I’m armed. If they even try to come in, I’ll shoot your girlfriend.” She ended the call before he could respond.
“Dammit.” Dragging his hand through his hair, Brock suppressed the urge to storm the front door.
“What did she say?” Roger asked, eyeing him as though bracing for bad news. “Judging from your expression, it wasn’t good.”
“She threatened Zoe.” Grimly, Brock considered his options. “Said we need to stay out here or she’ll shoot her.”
“Shoot her?” Roger’s brows rose. “She’s armed?”
At the word, both of his officers stiffened, standing at attention.
“It sounds so.” Brock glanced from Roger to the house and back again.
“Don’t even think about it,” Roger cautioned. “For now, it’s best to let Zoe try to defuse the situation. If you go in there blazing, she’s likely to shoot you, too.”
Jaw set, Brock nodded. “I don’t want Zoe hurt.”
“None of us does.”
“Sheriff,” one of the deputies interrupted. “If this is a hostage situation, we need to call for backup.”
“Not yet,” Roger barked. “Call and tell the other deputies to be on standby.”
The man nodded and returned to his car to do exactly that.
“What next?” Brock asked, itching to do something—anything—to make sure Zoe was safe.
“We wait.” Roger took his arm, making him realize he’d instinctively started to move forward. Out of reflex, Brock shook the other man’s grip off.
“Don’t make me cuff you,” Roger threatened. “You need to stay right here.”
Brock snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
At that, one of the uniformed officers rested his hand on the butt of his gun.
“Stand down.” Shaking his head, Roger glanced at the house.
An uneasy silence fell. Several of the neighbors grew curious and came outside to see what was going on. Roger motioned to one of his men to keep them back.
“It’s too quiet,” Roger mused. “I don’t like not being able to hear what’s going on inside.”
“Me, either. Hey, look. There aren’t any windows on the south side,” Brock pointed out. “I could go around that way without anyone seeing me.”
Roger considered. “You’re a civilian,” he argued. “I can’t let you put your life in danger. I’ll do it.”
“No.” Prepared to plead his case any way he had to, Brock stepped forward. “That’s my Zoe in there. I can’t let Cristine hurt her.”
“Your Zoe?”
“That’s right.” Brock shot him a look, daring him to contradict him.
“So that’s how it is.” Roger grimaced. “I sort of suspected when you got so pissed that I took her to dinner.” He sighed. “Look, I can’t let you help. It would put my office in all kinds of lawsuit danger sending a civilian into a building where a woman is already holding one woman at gunpoint.”
“Then turn your back. You don’t have to know.”
“That’s not how it works.” Roger spread his hands. “Sorry.” His walkie-talkie squawked and he turned his attention to that.
Brock began moving. He strolled to the driveway, pretending to be focused on the fire truck that had just pulled up, lights flashing. Then he sprinted off, hoping to make it before the other man saw him.
When he reached the house, he hurried around to the back. From the layout, the kitchen was probably there, and would have a window over the sink. Since Zoe hadn’t indicated what room she and Cristine were in, he’d need to be careful.
To his surprise, the back door was unlocked. Almost as if Cristine wanted someone to come in and stop her from whatever she planned to do. Once he was inside, he closed the door quietly and stood listening.
The murmur of feminine voices came from the front of the house, where the living room would be.
Moving quietly, he continued on.
The room was dark, with all the curtains and blinds closed. Cristine sat with her back to him, in the high-backed chair that faced the front window. Zoe crouched on the floor in front of her, keeping very still, as if afraid to move. Though she gave no visible indication, he knew she saw him immediately.
“Cristine,” Zoe said. “Nothing will be accomplished by doing this.”
“Justice.” Again Cristine’s flat voice made his gut clench. At least she was semilucid, he told himself, deciding to count his blessings. Though that could change at any moment, he knew.
“Not this way,” Zoe argued. “Think of your mother.”
“I have thought of her.” Now Cristine displayed some agitation, waving something that looked a hell of a lot like a pistol in front of her. He couldn’t see what it was since her body blocked it, but judging from the way Zoe’s gaze tracked the thing, his guess was correct.
In the space of an afternoon, things had gone from bad to worse. Just freaking fantastic.
Edging closer, he ignored Zoe’s wide-eyed look of warning. He needed to try to find out what had set Cristine off.
“I can’t stand it.” Now Cristine had begun crying. Damn. He’d rather she be calm and monotone. High emotions could lead to outbursts.
“Yes, you can,” Zoe said. “You’re a strong woman. When you tell them it was an accident—”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it—”
“I was drunk, don’t you understand?” Spraying spittle, Cristine stood. Brock froze, well aware all she had to do was turn around and she’d see him.
“It’s a manslaughter charge. Vehicular manslaughter. They’ll send me away. I can’t go to prison. I’ll never survive that.” Her hysteria was rising.
Manslaughter charge? What the hell?
“Please. Sit back down. Tell me what happened.” Still the quiet voice of reason, Zoe attempted to calm the other woman down.
To Brock’s relief, Cristine sat. “I’ve lied about so many things,” she said. “Shayna lied about everything and I, well, I just sort of started imitating her. It started out like a game, but once you start doing that, you forget what’s real and what’s not.” She took a deep breath. “Like when I told you she and Brock were lovers at
the end. They weren’t. There never was a video.”
Zoe nodded. “That’s okay.”
“Is it? You knew.” Cristine gave a short bark of laughter. “Well, how about this then? I hired some druggie to shoot you in the Hitching Post parking lot.”
Sucking her breath, Zoe revealed her shock. “Why?”
“I didn’t want you poking around. Until you showed up again, I planned to frame the whole thing on Mike.”
“I see.” Zoe sounded calm. “You were about to tell me about Shayna.”
While Cristine had been talking, Brock had dropped to the floor, crawling over to the back of her chair. Now, if Cristine stood, she wouldn’t see him without gripping the top of her seat and peering down.
“That night, Shayna and I had started partying at home. We did that a lot, to save money. We were drinking vodka and Diet Coke. I was totally wasted even before we got to the bar,” Cristine said. “So was she. But we were laughing and having such a good time, I didn’t worry about it.”
She fell silent.
After a moment, Zoe prodded her. “Then she hooked up with Mike, right?”
“Exactly.” Cristine went from listless sorrow to furious anger with that one word. “I couldn’t believe she did that! I was seriously pissed when Shayna left with Mike. She knew damn good and well that I’ve been after him for months. And then she swooped in and took him, just like that. I think she did it to pay me back for sleeping with her father.”
The vitriol in her voice worried Brock. He stayed put, trying to decide on his next course of action.
Zoe tried to speak, but Cristine told her to be quiet.
“Sorry,” Zoe said. “You were saying?”
“After they left the bar together, I went home. And imagine how I felt when she had the nerve to call me to come pick her up at the lake after she and he were finished.”
“Pretty awful.” Zoe ventured a guess.
“Damn right. But we were friends and I saw the perfect opportunity to let her have a piece of my mind. So I went and got her.”
Brock couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was beginning to sound like Cristine had killed Shayna. Never in a hundred years would he have guessed.
Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies Page 22
