Denim Detective

by Adrianne Lee

  A handsome cowboy bent over a damsel in distress.

  She gazed at his beloved face again. His serious expression sent her mind shifting back to the events of the past couple of days, back to the reason she’d fled the Olympic Peninsula and hurried here.

  She struggled up to her elbows. “I was going to have the surgery. I made it as far as the operating room. But something happened. Something awful.”

  “What?” His jaw tensed, a sign of wariness she’d seen too often since they’d lost Callie.

  The warm yearnings retreated, the sense she could bridge the gap between them collapsing in the next blink of her eyes. Was he going to listen? Really listen? And believe? Or would this be like every other time she’d tried to convince him that Mann meant to kill her?

  The glint flashed from outside again. Deedra felt a sudden chill, a premonition, the same sensation she’d had while standing beside her car—as though she were being watched. Stalked. Targeted.

  Her lethargic limbs lost all resistance, all weightiness. With a strength she could not guess the source of, she lurched up and knocked Beau in the chest with the heels of both hands. He swore, toppling over.

  She hurled herself off the sofa and dropped onto him as a loud kaboom resounded from outside. The picture window exploded inward. Deedra buried a scream in Beau’s chest as glass rained into the room.

  Beau stopped struggling, caught her in a bear hug and set her behind him out of harm’s way.

  “Gotta get to the gun case,” he whispered, scooting her back from the shattered window and shards of glass, ever farther from the sniper’s aim. “Keep low.”

  He moved with stealth and grace as though he’d never suffered a gunshot to the leg. She moved with speed and zip as though she possessed energy to burn.

  Another bullet blasted into the room. Wood paneling cracked. Deedra shrieked and scrambled to the kitchen. She pressed her back to a lower cabinet cupboard, an area blind to outsiders. She hugged her knees, her chest heaving with fear.

  From her position she watched Beau activate the secret paneling beside the fireplace. He’d installed this secure spot to house ammunition and guns the week after Callie’s birth. He wasn’t taking any chances with his daughter’s safety. If only he’d been as cautious when Mann first turned his hatred on them, she thought.

  Beau pulled his favorite hunting rifle from the depths of the storage wall along with the Colt 45 he’d insisted she learn to shoot. Every gun in the hidden case was kept cleaned and loaded; natural predators—grizzlies, cougars, rattlers, and even coyotes—often wandered too near for safety.

  This time the predator was human. She shivered at that fact.

  Crouched low, Beau scrambled to her side.

  “I’ve got to check the area beyond the window,” he whispered. “See if our shooter is still out there.”

  She caught his wrist. “Beau, please be careful.”

  His gaze softened for a second. He squatted and thrust the Colt into her palm. “Keep that trained on the door, and do whatever you have to.”

  She nodded, and Beau scuttled off, disappearing back into the living room. Fear billowed in her chest as she hefted the Colt and pointed it at the door. Beau would be all right. He was a cop. Trained to handle situations like this.

  Unlike Deedra.

  She had street smarts aplenty, but none of her life experiences had prepared her to deal one-on-one with a cold-blooded killer. Oh, she could shoot. Accurately, too. In fact, if she’d had this gun the day Mann forced her car off the road there might have been a different outcome.

  Beau, however, had decided she was too mentally unstrung to pack a deadly weapon. Too jumpy. He feared she’d accidentally shoot someone. Maybe Uncle Sean. Or Pilar. Or him.

  Maybe herself.

  She had to admit she’d given him reason to worry; on her worst days she had wanted to die. The loss of her child coupled with the tumor played havoc with her hormones, magnified her grief, her desperation and kept her on the brink of insanity. As long as the tumor remained inside her, she could not fully trust her mental state.

  Nor should whoever wanted her dead. God help Mann if he should come through this door. She felt just crazy enough to show him that he wasn’t the only one wanting revenge.

  The muted crunch of glass sent her dark thoughts fleeing. Her heart thumped harder, louder, cutting off all other sounds. She willed herself to calm down and ignored the urge to check on Beau.

  He counted on her, needed her, to watch his back.

  She focused on that, pinning her gaze on the door, shaking her head and straining to make out any alien sounds from outside. After another unsettling crunch of breaking glass, an eerie silence fell over the house. Her mouth dried. She heard nothing from outside for several heart-stopping moments, and then she made out the clunk of a boot heel on one of the log porch steps.

  Her hand tightened on the handle of the Colt. Her muscles bunched. A porch board creaked. Terror gathered in Deedra’s throat, and a buzzing started in her ears. A solid footfall landed on the porch. Her breath snagged. Her finger feathered the trigger.

  Oh, God, where was Beau? Had the sniper gotten him?

  Another footstep.

  Closer.

  The buzzing in her ears grew louder.

  Another step. Closer still.

  The buzzing flared to a steady blare.

  The sniper was at the door.

  The knob turned.

  Deedra braced the gun in both hands. The door swung open. Mann stood there. Taller than she remembered, the sunlight glaring around his frame, blurring his features. He was speaking, but she couldn’t make out the words through the awful buzzing. She leveled the gun at his chest. “Don’t come any closer.”

  He kept talking, but she couldn’t hear. He set his rifle beside the door and stepped toward her, reaching for the Colt.

  “Stay away from me!” she shouted.

  He advanced on her.

  Shoot. Shoot. But the message went no further than her brain. Her finger froze on the trigger.

  He reached down, grabbed the Colt and lifted the barrel toward the ceiling. He wrenched the weapon from her. She cringed from him as horrified at what he might do to her now that he’d disarmed her as she was at her inability to protect herself. Oh, Beau. She’d let them both down. Mann lifted her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, dragging her to the door. The loud bang of it slamming shut hit her like a sobering slap.

  Deedra shook her head. The buzzing receded, and finally she began to make out words, a voice. Beau’s voice. She blinked hard and went icy as she stared at the man holding her. Beau. Not Floyd Mann.

  Her hands flew to her mouth but couldn’t hold in the sob.

  “Damn it all, woman, I thought you were going to kill me.” He reached behind him and locked the door.

  “Oh, my God, Beau. I saw…Mann…I…” Her voice trailed off in a singsong tone as though some inner horror kept flashing over her in waves, each pass presenting another gruesome scenario.

  She touched his chest, her fingers tentative as if she sought assurance that he was real, just as he’d needed proof of her at the cemetery. As her touch grew stronger, bolder, she sobbed again. She fell into him, knocking him back against the door, her arms wrapping around his middle.

  Beau gathered in her trembling body, bracing his weight on the door, his injured leg near buckling. His gaze scanned the area beyond the shattered window, a part of him alert to the danger that might still lurk beyond that now-vulnerable opening, but his healthy male body was slowly giving way to the awareness of woman pressed against the length of him.

  Not just any woman.

  Deedra.

  He had thought he’d never hold her like this again, never feel her, smell her, touch her. Now he wanted to do all of that, and more: wanted to haul her down the hall to their bed, strip off their clothes and get lost in the frenzy of their lovemaking. The need throbbed through his veins, thickened his blood, his flesh.

&nb
sp; He caught her face in his hands and, with a hunger too long denied, brought his mouth down on hers, taking possession of her lips, her tongue. Desire built to a sensuous drumbeat in his ears, blocking all sounds but the tiny, lusty whimpers of her compliance.

  She ground her hips against his until his moans chorused hers in a song as old as time, a melodic promise that this most intimate joining would heal the way to their reunion. That if this were right, then surely everything else could be made right.

  He bent to lift her into his arms, and she came eagerly, their lips locked, the connection too strong to break. He gathered her body to his chest, and his leg gave out. He startled, tried catching himself. Deedra yelped. They collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Her cheeks were flushed with desire, her eyes glazed with unfulfilled want. Then a smirk curved her sexy mouth, and Beau started to laugh.

  A large chunk of picture window dropped from the pane. The crash shattered the moment and the closeness. Beau sobered, berating himself for needing her so much he’d forgotten, even for a heartbeat, the danger that lurked outside.

  Or the danger that lurked inside. The emotional danger.

  God, was he crazy? How could he think making love would bridge the chasm in their relationship? Had he learned nothing from the time after Callie’s disappearance? If sex were a cure-all, he wouldn’t have fled the intimacy of their marriage bed and driven Deedra to a point where she’d rather hide than be with him. He struggled to his feet, allowing her to help him up, gazing into her gorgeous gray eyes.

  In that second he realized he’d had a narrow escape. It would hurt him more than he could bear if he had Deedra again and then she chose to walk out once more.

  Better not to have her at all.

  “We need to call in some backup.” He gathered his cane from the floor and hobbled to the wall phone in the kitchen.

  “Did you see anyone out there?” Deedra followed him but held back, hugging herself, her gaze not quite meeting his. She seemed ill at ease as though she regretted their intimacy, their kiss. As though she were shocked at what had almost happened between them, unhappy that she’d wanted it as much as he.

  “No, I didn’t see anyone.” Beau blew out a hard breath and lifted the receiver. At least the sniper hadn’t cut the phone line. He dialed the ranch. “There were some cartridge shells near that big boulder by the river, but the ground is too dry for footprints. Too rocky. I didn’t even spot any sign of a vehicle heading away down the road.”

  As soon as his uncle answered, he said, “Sean, there’s been some trouble out at the cabin. Get hold of Heck Long, tell him and Nora Lee to get out here ASAP, and then send out a couple of the barn hands and a load of planking. The main window needs to be boarded up until it can be replaced. I’ll explain later. Oh, and tell Pilar to set an extra plate for supper tonight.”

  He hung up to find Deedra standing against the counter, her face chalky, her eyes narrowed accusingly. “You didn’t tell Sean about Mann. Why? Don’t tell me you actually think it was some hunter? Or…or a poacher?”

  “No, I don’t think that.” He stood stock-still, not knowing how to approach her, how to bridge that unbridgeable gap. She appeared small and fragile, but at her core there was a strength built from years surviving by her wits. She didn’t cry or brood or fall apart like other women. He supposed that was why he’d felt so helpless when she had fallen apart after losing Callie.

  He said, “An accidental first shot wouldn’t explain the second. That was deliberate. Whoever it was, was firing at us.”

  “Mann,” she whispered.

  “Maybe.” He motioned her toward the round dining table. “We’ve got some time before the men and Nora Lee show up. I think you’d better tell me exactly what happened at that hospital in Washington State.”

  Deedra closed the blinds over the nook window and sat. Beau prepared a plate of crackers and cheese before joining her. “Eat. I don’t want you fainting again.”

  She did as directed, explaining between bites. “I had gone to the hospital weeks in advance of the hysterectomy to have my blood stored. Day before yesterday I arrived early, was prepped, wheeled into the operating room and given anesthesia. So when I awakened in recovery, I naturally assumed I’d had the procedure.”

  “But you hadn’t.”

  “No. As I was coming around I heard two nurses talking about another patient.” She grimaced, recalling. “A woman who hadn’t made it through her own surgery, and, oh, Beau, I felt so bad for her, so awful for her family. But I was relieved, grateful, so damned glad that the same fate hadn’t been mine. Only, for once, it was more than survival instinct. I know it sounds strange, but it was as if someone had turned on the colors again, as if I’d been reborn.”

  She met his eyes then, and he realized she meant what she said, that she might actually, finally have begun healing.

  “But with that revelation came another. A terrifying one.” She chewed a cracker with cheese, seeming to need the momentary distance between herself and the horror. “The dead woman had been given the wrong blood. The wrong blood type.”

  Beau swore. “Good God, how could anyone make that kind of a mistake?”

  “The mistake cost Mrs. Orowitz her life. But the tragedy was nearly twofold. Her blood had been switched with another surgery patient’s.”

  “Yours?” His eyebrows lifted.

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of malpractice mansion were you in?”

  “It was no foul-up, Beau. The nurse said it was done on purpose and if the anesthesiologist hadn’t realized it, I would have been dead, too. I knew then that Mann had found me. That he’d almost killed me again. That he had killed an innocent woman.”

  “You think Mann did this?”

  “Of course it was Mann. I can’t fight him alone,” she implored. “Please, Beau, I need your help. Will you help me?”

  But he was a mental beat behind her. “How could it be Mann? According to you, no one knew where you went. So, how can you expect me to believe that Mann found you in another state? That he somehow discovered where you were having surgery, somehow gained access to where they kept the blood and switched it?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Her expression clouded. She actually seemed not to have considered this.

  “Well, there has to be some explanation and the obvious one is that somebody knew where you were.”

  “No…” Her frown deepened.

  Beau tilted his head. “Not even your old pal Freddie?”

  She stiffened, and he could see he’d hit the ball out of the park. She shook her head. “No…Freddie wouldn’t…”

  “Freddie would.”

  “No—”

  “Oh, hell, Dee. Freddie Carter would sell his grandmother for a bottle of booze.”

  She blanched. Her face going ashen.

  He covered her cold hand. He knew how this had to hurt. She preferred remembering the Freddie who’d rescued her from the mean streets of Butte, who’d taken her in and taught her how to survive without selling her body. But Freddie liked whiskey. In recent years, he liked whiskey more than he liked anything. “I’m sorry, babe.”

  The loud rattle of a loose muffler brought Beau to his feet, to the window over the sink. Relief swept through him at the sight of the familiar black-and-white Cherokee pulling up out front. “It’s Heck. By the way, I’m not a state trooper anymore. I’m the new sheriff of Buffalo Falls. Heck’s my deputy.”

  Her gray eyes widened.

  He said, “Stay here. I want to give him the facts without his being distracted by your resurrection.”

  He stepped out onto the porch. Heck, medium height with a wiry build, a military haircut and small brown eyes, spilled from the patrol car. He was alone. “Where’s Nora Lee?”

  “Was on patrol. She’s heading in to man the office while we’re out here.” Before Beau could respond, Heck added, “I’ve been tryin’ to reach you ever-where, Sheriff. They caught Floyd Mann this mornin’. Got him in a jail cel
l in Butte.”

  Chapter Five

  Floyd Mann, captured outside his mountain cabin. That morning. Imprisoned in Butte. That morning. Not Mann down by the river. Shooting at them. Trying to kill them.

  Deedra felt empty and confused, as though a long-held truth had been ripped from her mind, her heart, the threads that had held it in place dangling like torn puppet strings. Someone was playing her. Had been all along.

  The fact stunned her as much as her being here with Beau had stunned first Heck Long and then the S bar S ranch hands who’d arrived in his wake. For a while mass chaos had prevailed. The men had seemed incapable of deciding which floored them more, the boss’s wife’s return or the sniper’s assault.

  Beau had directed them to gather evidence, clean up the mess and secure the cabin. Then he’d caught Deedra by the arm and guided her outside and into his car. The question she couldn’t bring herself to ask aloud sat between them like a glass wall.

  If not Mann, who? Who wanted to kill her?

  Beau wore a scowl, and she could almost hear his mind churning, likely mulling this same question. But he didn’t speak, and the silence grew with every mile, glass wall thickening, an invisible wedge shoving them further apart.

  Deedra sank low, cringing in on herself, terrified that whoever had shot at them earlier might try again as they drove to Butte. Her nervous hands clutched the edge of the seat. Her fingertips brushed paper, something tucked between the door and floorboards, as though it had slipped off the cushion. She grasped it. Nothing official. Just a card-shaped envelope addressed to Beau in a woman’s flowery script. The E curlicued.

  She glanced at Beau, but his concentration remained on the road, not on what she was doing. She looked again at the envelope, deciding it was nothing important or he wouldn’t have been careless enough to misplace it. She set it on the seat between them, saw it might slip through the cushions and stuffed it into her pocket.

  Beau exited the highway for the outskirts of Butte.

  The increase in traffic shattered Deedra’s fragile sense of security. The hair on her neck rose, her palms grew damp. She cast her gaze in all directions, searching for the sniper and his rifle.