White Hot

by Sandra Brown

  “You fight me, I’ll rip it out by the roots. Swear to God, pretty as it is, I’ll tear it out and take it as a souvenir.” He gave the handful of hair a sharp tug that brought tears to her eyes.

  She stopped trying to twist away and lay still.

  “That’s better.” He squirmed against her buttocks. “Now ain’t this cozy? How’d you like a taste of some of the things I learned in prison?”

  Behind his hand, she cried out in fear and outrage. He laughed at the muffled sounds. “Relax, Red. Your ass is awful tempting, but I ain’t got time for romance. I came here to talk, but you can bet your life I’ll hurt you if I have to. Do we have an understanding?”

  Between the hand clasped over her mouth and the rumpled bedcovers beneath her face, she couldn’t find sufficient air. She didn’t believe that he had sneaked into her room merely to talk, but she nodded to keep herself from smothering.

  “Okay, then. I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth. If you scream, it’ll be the last sound you ever make.”

  Gradually he withdrew his hand. Sayre resisted the impulse to lick her lips, because tasting any residue of him would be repugnant. He gave her butt a hard squeeze as he climbed off her. When she was free, she turned onto her back, then sat up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  The light came on suddenly. She blinked away the sudden glare and saw Slap Watkins, his hand still on the switch of the bedside lamp. It projected harsh light up through the top opening of the lamp-shade, which shone eerily on his face. The shadow of his head on the wall was the sort that children’s nightmares were made of.

  His looks hadn’t improved while he’d been on the lam. If anything he’d grown uglier. His teeth looked longer, yellower. His goatee was more scraggly. His face had become so lean that each bone of it was grotesquely pronounced, almost skeletal. His skinny neck was vulturine, and his large ears looked like attachments that had been stuck on the sides of his head for comic effect.

  “Hi, Red.”

  Her heart was pounding and her mouth had gone dry, but she tried not to show any fear. She glanced at the door. “Don’t even think about it,” he said around a nasty-sounding laugh. “You couldn’t make it out before I got to you, and that’d force me to break my promise not to hurt you.” Grinning, he slid a knife from his boot and tapped the flat side of the blade against his palm.

  “How did you get in?”

  “I’m a criminal, remember? Picked the lock in no time flat. Silent, too. Shame on you for not using your chain lock. A lady all by herself, you ought to know better.”

  She didn’t want to think about how long he’d been in the room with her before she woke up. It made her flesh crawl to think of him sitting in the chair near her bed, watching her sleep, listening to her breathe. Maybe it was his smell that had awakened her. It had been days at least since he’d washed, and his body odor was nauseating.

  “Are these real?” She had left her diamond stud earrings on the nightstand. He was holding them up to the light, turning them this way and that, appraising their value.

  “Yes. You’re welcome to them if you’ll leave.”

  “Thanks. Believe I will.” He put the earrings in the pocket of his filthy blue jeans. “But I can’t leave till we’ve had ourselves a little chat.”

  “What do you and I have to chat about?”

  “Do you know I got the law looking for me?”

  “You assaulted my brother with a knife.”

  “That’s bullshit. I’s only gonna scare him with it. He caused me to cut him. Did it deliberate.”

  Although she had advanced that theory to Beck, she posed the question to Slap now. “Why would Chris do that?”

  “’Cause he wanted to make me out a killer.”

  “Chris believes you murdered our brother. Did you?”

  In lieu of answering he opened the nightstand drawer, removed the Gideon Bible, and tossed it to her. “Genesis, chapter four.”

  Leaving the Bible where it landed beside her, she asked coolly, “You’re a Bible scholar?”

  “Up at Angola, I went to worship services every Sunday. Passed out the songbooks and everything. Looked good on my record.”

  “I suppose it balanced the sodomy.”

  His eyes turned flinty. “You calling me a fag? I’ll teach you different.”

  Her sarcasm had been a dreadful mistake. She’d given him something to prove.

  When he came at her, she tried to scramble to the far side of the bed, but again he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her back. He placed the tip of his knife against her cheek and laughed when she fell perfectly still.

  “I thought that’d get your attention. Don’t want to mess up that pretty face, do you?” Roughly he pushed her knees apart and moved to stand between her thighs, thrusting his hips toward her face. “You got a real sassy mouth, but I can think of one real good way to shut it up.”

  “You’d have to kill me.”

  “That might be fun, too.”

  Just then the air-conditioning unit came on with its customary clatter and knock. He reacted with a start to the sudden noise and whipped his head toward it. When he realized what it was, he was visibly relieved, but it had spooked him nonetheless. He released her hair and nervously backed away from her.

  “Much as I’d love to take full advantage of this situation, I’ve spent too much time here already.” He picked up the Bible and shook it at her. “You tell Sheriff Harper to read his Bible. The part about Cain and Abel. And you’d better be convincing when you talk to him, ’cause if I’m a wanted man for killing a Hoyle, then I’d just as soon kill me one.”

  He dragged the tip of the knife across her nipple. “And I’ve always had a real sweet tooth for redheads.”

  • • •

  She was waiting with Sheriff Harper and Deputy Scott in Red’s office when Beck arrived. Like her, he looked a little worse for wear.

  She had seen the picket line when she drove past the foundry, although it was no surprise to her because she had spoken to Clark Daly the night before. He had called shortly after her return from New Orleans. He was on his coffee break in the Center, he explained, using a buddy’s cell phone. There had been excitement in his voice for the progress that had already been made.

  “I’ve isolated some of Huff’s stoolies and warned men to be careful of what they say around them because it goes straight to Huff.” He and some men he trusted were also doing what they could to keep Billy Paulik in the forefront of everyone’s mind.

  “Nielson’s got the picket going. Huff made a speech against it, but it didn’t put the scare into us he intended. Things are looking up, Sayre. I’ll give you progress reports when I can.”

  He’d sounded upbeat. His voice had had a ring of confidence that validated her getting him involved in something important. She’d received no more updates, but evidently the discontent among workers had escalated through the night, despite Huff’s efforts to squelch it. Some of the picketers this morning were Hoyle employees.

  That explained Beck’s haggard appearance as he entered Red’s office and said grimly, “Morning.”

  They chorused a good morning, although none sounded like he meant it. Beck sat in the unoccupied chair next to hers, facing Red’s desk. Wayne Scott remained standing.

  “How are things over at the plant?” the sheriff asked.

  “Hot.”

  “We’re supposed to have a heat index around one hundred today,” Scott remarked, and Sayre wondered if he actually thought that Beck had been referring to the outside temperature.

  Beck ignored him and addressed his answer to Red. “Another couple dozen pickets showed up in time to greet the day shift when they reported at seven. Some of our men took the pamphlets they were handing out, and even joined in the march, which made Hoyle loyalists angry.

  “Tempers are high. I don’t know how long we can contain them. I’m trying like hell to reach Nielson, see if we can cap this thing, but he won’t return my calls.�
�� Suddenly turning to Sayre, he asked, “Have you heard from him?”

  This was the first time they’d made eye contact since his arrival, and it was like a physical jolt. “No.”

  He held her gaze, as though searching for an indication that she was lying, then he turned back to Red. “I can’t be away long. Why did you want to see me?”

  Red motioned toward her. “Sayre had a visitor this morning. She thought you should hear what he had to say.”

  “Visitor?”

  “Slap Watkins broke into my motel room early this morning.”

  Beck stared at her with shock, then he looked toward Red as though for confirmation.

  “This office got the call a little after five this morning. A man was dispatched immediately. Of course by the time he got to The Lodge, Watkins was long gone.”

  Beck turned back to her. He looked her over, from the top of her head to her feet, then back up to her eyes. “Are you hurt? Did he . . .”

  She lowered her head, shaking it as she responded to Beck’s unfinished question and all that it implied. “He threatened to hurt me, but he didn’t. The only damage he did is this.” She touched the spot on her cheek where his knife had nicked her when the air conditioner cycled on. “He flinched at a sudden sound. I don’t think he meant to do it.”

  “Wayne and I have read the statement Sayre gave the deputy who went to the motel, but we haven’t heard about it firsthand. She thought you should be here.”

  Beck nodded absently. “What did Watkins do, say? Did he force his way in?”

  “He picked the door lock. I hadn’t put the chain on, which was foolish. I woke up to find him in the room with me.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I don’t suppose he told you where he’d been hiding,” Scott said.

  “No. He didn’t volunteer that information.”

  “Did you happen to see which way he was headed when he left the motel?”

  “No, but he must have left on foot. I didn’t hear a motor.”

  “How did he know where you were staying?”

  “It wouldn’t have been that hard to locate me. There are only two motels in town. Process of elimination.”

  She noticed Beck’s growing impatience with Scott’s inane questions. Turning to the deputy, he said, “Why don’t you let up on the stupid questions and give her a chance to tell you what happened?”

  Before the deputy could address Beck’s put-down, Red said, “Good idea. Sayre, start at the beginning. We won’t interrupt until you’re finished. What did he want?”

  “He wanted me to deliver a message to you.” She recounted the incident, leaving out only Slap’s sexual innuendos, which had no bearing on the message he had wanted her to impart to the sheriff. As Red had stipulated, no one interrupted her. “That’s it. Almost word for word.”

  After a short silence, Scott asked, “Did you make any attempt to escape?”

  “I was afraid that if I ran toward the door I’d get a knife in my back. I couldn’t have opened it and got out before he reached me. He’s skinny, but in any kind of physical struggle, I would have lost.”

  “You never screamed?”

  “I couldn’t while his hand was over my mouth. Once he released me, I didn’t scream because I didn’t want to provoke him into using the knife. Besides, what good would screaming have done?”

  No one had an answer.

  Red was rubbing his sunken eye sockets. His skin had a gray cast, and he seemed to have lost weight since she’d last seen him, which had been only several days ago. She wondered whether he was ill, or just beleaguered.

  Beck was loosening his tie and working his collar button out of its hole. He looked like a man losing ground against the demons he was battling.

  Only Deputy Scott appeared to have been galvanized by this development. He hitched up his gun holster and said, “Well, let’s go get him.”

  “I hope you’re referring to Slap Watkins,” Beck said. “Surely you don’t mean to arrest Chris.”

  “The hell I don’t,” Scott retorted.

  “Not so fast, Wayne,” the sheriff said. Then to Beck, “Maybe we ought to talk to Chris again.”

  “Based on hearsay?”

  Sayre looked at him with dismay. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  “No. Watkins is just stupid enough to pull a stunt like this. But until he’s in custody, we’ve got only your word for what he said.”

  It took an act of will for her not to strike him. “Go to hell.”

  “Sayre,” Red said sternly.

  She turned toward the sheriff. “I quoted my conversation with Watkins verbatim. That’s what he said. Genesis chapter four.”

  “I believe you,” he said. “And probably Beck does, too. But he represents Chris, don’t forget.”

  She turned and looked Beck in the eye. “I never do.”

  “And remember that Watkins is fresh out of the pen,” Red continued. “He’d say anything to try and keep his sorry self from having to go back. He was throwing up a smoke screen with this Bible story reference, getting us all excited, wanting us to think that Chris killed his brother, take the pressure off himself, maybe long enough to make his way down to Mexico.”

  “I think that’s precisely what he hoped to achieve,” Beck said. “He’s running scared. He’s desperate and feeling the heat. He wanted to transfer it to somebody else, and we all know how he feels about the Hoyles.”

  “Don’t you think I considered his self-interest?” she said angrily. “Of course I did. I’m not stupid.”

  “No one’s accused you of being stupid, Sayre,” Beck said.

  “No, just a liar.”

  “Calm down. I’m not refuting your word. I’m only trying to make sense of it. Let’s suppose that Watkins was speaking the unvarnished truth. Let’s suppose he has firsthand knowledge that Chris killed Danny. Why wouldn’t he contact the authorities with this information? Why risk getting captured by breaking into your motel room and threatening you with a knife? Why would he go to all that bother and risk to tell you?”

  “Because he knew that I wouldn’t sweep it under the rug.”

  “No one in this office will either, Ms. Lynch,” Scott said staunchly. “We have to act on this, Sheriff Harper. We’ve already placed Chris at the scene.”

  Beck scoffed. “With a matchbook?”

  “And we’ve established that he had opportunity during the two hours that he can’t account for his time.”

  “Unless he produces an alibi.”

  “He doesn’t have one,” Scott said.

  “He hasn’t produced one,” Beck said, correcting him. “That doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.”

  While Scott was mulling that over, Red asked, “Where’s the motive, Wayne? You’ve failed to establish a reason for Chris to kill Danny.”

  It was on the tip of Sayre’s tongue to blurt out Chris’s motive. She wanted to, if for no other reason than to pull the slats out from under Beck Merchant.

  But she couldn’t say anything without betraying Jessica DeBlance’s confidence. If it ever reached a point where justice hinged on that, she would have to reveal what she knew about the engagement. But if she could avoid it, she would.

  “I still think we’ve got enough for another round of questioning at the very least,” Scott argued.

  Red sighed. “Bad as I hate to say it, Beck, Wayne’s right. Any other suspect, we’d bring in and see what he had to say about this allegation. We can’t exempt Chris just because of who he is.”

  Beck thought it over for a moment, then said, “We’ve got a powder keg at the foundry. God only knows what kind of chain reaction it would set off if you picked up Chris in a patrol car. I don’t see what purpose it would serve, and in fact, it could cause a panic.”

  “Then I’m making you responsible for getting him in here voluntarily,” Red said.

  “Once he hears about this, he’ll welcome the chance to respond.”

  “It’s still mandatory that he come
in today,” the sheriff said.

  “I’ll have him here after lunch.”

  “Okay then.”

  Wayne Scott didn’t look too happy with the arrangement, but he didn’t have any choice but to accept it. “Are you afraid, ma’am?”

  Sayre looked up at him. “Afraid?”

  “Watkins threatened to kill you.”

  “He had an opportunity to kill me. He didn’t.”

  “Just to be on the safe side, I’ll post a squad car outside your motel room.”

  “No, Red. Please don’t.”

  “If Huff finds out about this, you can bet—”

  “And I’m sure you’ll tell him,” she said. “But I don’t want watchdogs outside my door. I won’t have them, so don’t bother sending them.”

  “Well . . . be careful,” he said lamely.

  “I will.” She stood up. “Is that all?”

  “For the time being.”

  She nodded a good-bye to Red and Deputy Scott but ignored Beck completely. She exited the building and had almost reached the red convertible when she heard him call her name. She kept walking. He caught up with her as she was unlocking the car door.

  When he laid his hand on her shoulder, she rounded on him. Before she had a chance to speak, he said, “I know you’re mad.”

  “Mad doesn’t come close.”

  “And I know why. But listen to me, Sayre. Take Red up on his offer of protection.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “You believe my story? You didn’t think my encounter with Watkins was a fabrication?”

  “Of course I believed you.”

  “You just enjoy making me look like an idiot and discrediting me in front of other people. In fact, it seems to have become your favorite pastime.”

  “I’m Chris’s counsel.”

  “So you’ve made clear.”

  She opened the car door and got in, but he prevented her from closing the door. Leaning in close, he spoke quickly and angrily. “Chris has placed his trust in me to act on his behalf. I couldn’t betray that trust any more than you could betray the trust of Danny’s fiancée.

  “You had a perfect opportunity to venture a motive for murder, Sayre. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Because you had given that woman your word not to say anything. Now, why should the rules of confidentiality apply only to you?”