by Linda Turner
Moving in what seemed like slow motion, he pulled a small, deadly pistol from behind his back and pointed it right between her eyes. Frozen, her heart stopping dead in her chest, Annie didn’t have to ask him what his intentions were. She could see the murder in his eyes. He was going to kill her.
Chapter 11
“Now that we have that settled,” he snarled, “I suggest you get in the van.” Nodding toward the faded red van that was illegally parked at the curb, he smiled evilly. “We’re going for a little ride.”
“No! Please—”
“Oh, you’re going to please me, all right. This time I’m going to make sure of it. You shouldn’t have gone to the cops.” His eyes dark and flat and cold as hell, he tightened his grip on the gun. “You know what I do to people who don’t know how to keep their mouths shut? I put a bullet between their eyes and it takes care of the problem every time. And just think—you even know where you’ll be spending eternity. Thanks to your loose tongue, you’ve already got your own grave dug. Oh, the cops filled it in, but you shouldn’t have any trouble digging it out again. I’ve got the shovel all ready for you in the back of the van.”
Her eyes locked in revulsion on the gun, Annie felt a whimper squeeze its way through her tight throat and hastily, painfully, swallowed it. No! she thought furiously, stiffening. She wouldn’t show this monster weakness—he thrived on it. And she damn well wouldn’t drive herself to her own execution without putting up a hell of a fight. He was going to kill her anyway. Why should she make it easy for him?
Standing her ground, praying he couldn’t hear the knocking of her knees, she said flatly, “If you’re going to kill me, you’re going to have to do it here. I’m not going anywhere.”
It was the wrong thing to say to a man who had nothing to lose. His eyes narrowing dangerously, he edged closer and snapped the gun under her chin, grinding it into the hollow below her ear. “Don’t tempt me, lady,” he ground out softly between his teeth. “Killing gets easier every time you do it, and with all the sirens around here, I can take care of you and anyone else who gets in my way and be halfway to Mexico before anyone finds the bodies. You want to do it here? Fine. I’m ready when you are.”
“Annie! Hello, dear. I just heard the fire engines and came outside to see what was going on. Did you see all the smoke coming from the Riverwalk? It looks like it’s coming from the bend of the river—”
Stiffening at the first sound of Alice Truelove’s worried voice, Annie whirled just in time to see the Lone Star Social Club’s elderly manager hurrying up the steps to the porch. Her heart stopping in her breast, she wanted to cry out at her to run, but she never had a chance. In the blink of an eye, the man at her side stepped close and jabbed the gun in her ribs so the old woman couldn’t see it. One look at the hard glint in his eyes and Annie knew that if she so much as breathed wrong, he’d kill them both.
Forcing a stiff smile, she said, “Hi, Alice. I saw the smoke, too, but I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” The fib stuck in her throat and she had to swallow before she could go on. “You haven’t met my…brother, have you? This is…Mike. Mike, this is Alice Truelove. She manages the Lone Star.”
“Great,” he muttered, pushing the gun harder against her side. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Startled, Alice looked back and forth between the two of them. A blind woman couldn’t have missed the tension between them, and Alice Truelove had the eyes of a twenty-year-old. Her gaze narrowing slightly, she greeted the man at Annie’s side cautiously, then turned to Annie. “You’re leaving? But what if the fire’s near Joe’s Place? Maybe you should wait—”
“I can’t.” Stumbling for an explanation, she blurted out the first bald-faced lie she could come up with. “I’m sure it’s coming from farther downriver—Joe’s down there and he would have called if there was a problem. And M-Mike and I h-have plans. He’s in town for just a short time and wanted to visit our father’s grave.”
Bewildered, the older woman blinked in confusion. “And you’re going there now?”
“I have to,” she said quickly when the devil at her side nudged her toward the steps. “When Joe gets back, will you tell him that I had to go but I’ll be back as soon as I can? I didn’t have time to leave him a note.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll watch for him and catch him the second he walks through the front door.” Trailing after them, she frowned worriedly at the top of the steps as they hurried down the sidewalk. “It was nice meeting you, Mike!” she called after them. “Drive carefully.”
Not sparing her a glance, he only muttered nasty curses in Annie’s ear and hustled her around to the passenger door of his van. Jerking it open, he pushed her across the seat so he could follow her inside. “You drive,” he told her coldly, and forced her into the driver’s seat. “And don’t even think of trying anything funny or I’ll come back later and pop off granny and your old man just for the hell of it. ”
Annie shuddered, not doubting him for a second. She’d already seen him kill once, and he hadn’t even blinked. Nausea swelling in her throat, her heart thudding, she started the van and slowly pulled away from the curb. Joe would come for her. He had to. Clinging to the thought, she scanned the rearview mirror for him expectantly. But the only person in sight was Alice. Still standing on the porch, a frown etching her brow, she watched them drive all the way down the street until they turned the corner and they disappeared from view.
Alice Truelove considered herself a discreet woman who knew how to mind her own business. Oh, she enjoyed playing matchmaker now and again, but she wasn’t one of those nosy landladies who was always pushing her nose into the lives of her tenants. That just wasn’t her way. The Lone Star Social Club was more like a boardinghouse than an apartment building and while the eight apartments were spacious, they were all within what had once been a single home. And when you were living right on top of people, all you had to do was stand back and listen to find out what was going on.
Unlike most of the other tenants, she’d known Annie and Joe Taylor were in trouble long before most of their other neighbors had. For months, they’d spent too much time apart, and whenever Alice had seen the two of them together, their smiles had been forced, the unhappiness in their eyes plainly visible. As much as she’d hated it, Alice hadn’t really been surprised when Annie had left.
But, Lord, she’d been sad for them. And the longer Annie had been gone, the more Alice had worried. No one knew better than she how the Lone Star could draw lovers together, but no amount of charm had seemed to help Annie and Joe.
But she was back now, and Alice had only had to see them together to know that the Taylors were well on their way to finding each other again. She couldn’t have been happier for them if they’d been her own kin, but as she stared down the street where Annie had disappeared in a van that Alice had never seen before, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. If that fire wasn’t at Joe’s Place, it was too close for comfort, and Annie should have been down there with Joe. And what was the all-fired hurry to get to the cemetery, anyway? Surely they could have waited until later to do that?
Troubled, she started to turn back into the house, telling herself that it was none of her business if Annie and her brother chose to run off when her husband’s restaurant could be burning to the ground. She wasn’t a busybody and if she wanted to steer clear of earning that tacky title, she would go into her own apartment and not worry about what the Taylors were doing.
But she hadn’t known that Annie even had a brother. And she really hadn’t liked the looks of him. Or the look of fear in Annie’s eyes. If Mike really was her brother as she’d claimed, what could Annie possibly be scared of? And if he wasn’t, then who was he and why had Annie gone with him? Busybody or not, Alice knew a bad smell when she smelled one, and she was going to get some answers. Hurrying inside, she headed for the phone.
When she dialed the restaurant, however, all she got was a stilte
d, recorded message from the phone company that said the number was not in working order. And outside, another fire engine screamed down the street. Worried, she hung up the phone, grabbed the key to her front door, and headed for the Riverwalk and Joe’s Place.
Ashes. What had once been one of the most popular restaurants on the Riverwalk was now nothing but a burned-out shell. A black skeleton of charred, still-smoking beams that looked like they would fall in on themselves any second. The last of the flames had been put out, but the firemen who had been called to the scene were taking no chances. Decked out in yellow rubber coats and boots, they kept the water coming, soaking everything in sight.
It was still early yet, but the sound of sirens had brought people running. They stood on both banks of the river, silent, solemn spectators, tourists and locals alike, and watched the scene as grimly as if the loss were their own. Only a few knew that the gray-faced man who stood alone on the fringes of the crowd was the one who had really just lost his life’s work.
The smell of burned wood sharp in his nostrils, Joe felt nothing but numbness. Gone, he thought dully. In the time it took to strike a match, it was all gone.
“It looks like it was arson, Mr. Taylor,” the fire inspector said grimly as he stomped through the ashes to join him. “It went up too fast and was too hot to be an electrical fire. If I had to guess, I’d say it was gasoline, but it’ll be a while before we can pin down what accelerant was used. I’ve already notified the police. They’re going to want to talk to you.”
Nodding, Joe stared blindly at the disaster before him and tried to make sense of it. But how could anyone explain an arsonist? He readily admitted he wasn’t a saint—he hadn’t gone through life without making an enemy or two. But this wasn’t the act of a business competitor who might be hacked at him for lowering the price of his lunch special. Oh, no. This was vicious, without conscience, the work of a bastard who had wanted to strike a low blow. He had.
And Joe didn’t know a soul who fit that description. Not one. Anyone who knew him knew that he was a reasonable man—if they had a beef with him, all they had to do was discuss the problem with him. Not burn his restaurant to the ground.
“We also have a witness who claims he saw the arsonist,” the fire inspector continued. “The only problem is, we don’t know how reliable he is. He’s a homeless man, a laid-off construction worker who promised to tell us everything we wanted to hear if we’d just buy him breakfast. He might just be looking for a free meal.”
Only half listening at first, Joe snapped to attention. “He saw the bastard set the fire? Where is he? I want to talk to him.”
“I thought you might,” the other man replied, his mouth curling in a tight smile. “C’mon, he’s over here.”
Joe followed him over to the spot that had been the Riverwalk entrance of the restaurant. Now it was nothing but a pile of blackened bricks. Beside it waited a gaunt, middle-aged man with a grizzled jaw and bloodshot eyes. His clothes were wrinkled but clean, his canvas tennis shoes worn and holey. Not the least bit intimidated, he held out his hand to Joe and introduced himself. “How do you do, sir? I’m Seth Bishop. You’re the owner?”
Joe nodded and gave his hand a firm shake. “Joe Taylor. I understand that you saw the slime who did this. Can you describe him for me?”
“It was right before sunup,” the older man replied, “so the light wasn’t real good, but I could tell he was a tall fella—at least six-two or three. But he wasn’t real heavy, maybe around two hundred at the most. He was dressed all in black, so he sort of blended in with the shadows.”
There was a commotion by the barriers the police had put up to keep the crowd back, and Joe looked up to see Alice Truelove hurrying over to him. “Joe! Thank God,” she sighed. “I’ve been worried sick—”
“I’m fine, Alice,” he assured her quickly. “Just a minute and I’ll be right with you.” Turning back to Seth Bishop, he asked, “What about this jerk’s face? Would you recognize him again if you saw him?”
“Oh, yeah. He was an ugly son of a bitch….” Suddenly aware of what he’d said, he cast a quick look at Alice and mumbled, “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean no disrespect,” before turning his attention back to Joe. “He was sort of shifty-looking, Mr. Taylor, with a square jaw and a big nose, and one of those marine haircuts. I think his hair was brown, but it was so short, it was hard to tell. And he had one of those little red cans of gasoline with him. That’s why I noticed him in the first place. He kept looking around real nervous-like, then disappeared into the bushes on the side of your building. Next thing I knew, the place was going up like a bonfire and he was racing up the stairs to street level down there by the Commerce Street Bridge.”
Startled, Alice gasped. “Why, that sounds like Annie’s brother!”
Distracted, Joe frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about? Annie doesn’t have a brother.”
Her worst fears confirmed, the old lady blanched. “Oh, dear, I was afraid of that. But Annie insisted he was her brother and they were going to their father’s grave. I thought it was odd. The fire trucks were screaming and the smoke was coming from this direction, but she insisted that she and her brother had to go to the cemetery right away—”
“Cemetery? What cemetery?” Alarmed, Joe grabbed her by the arm. “Start at the beginning, Alice. Where did you see Annie and this man?”
“On the front porch of the house.” Her beautifully lined cheeks as pale as parchment, she told him everything she could remember about the odd conversation with Annie and the man she’d introduced as her brother. “She said his name was Mike and he was only in town for a short while,” she concluded. “They were going to their father’s grave, but they wouldn’t be gone long. Since you were gone, she wanted me to be sure and tell you where she’d gone when you got back. Then they left in a red van. Annie was driving.” Distressed, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “She’s in trouble, isn’t she? I shouldn’t have let her go. If something happens to her because of me…”
She couldn’t finish the thought. His face carved in harsh lines, Joe told himself there was no reason to panic. Annie was still leery of men she didn’t know—she never would have gone off with anyone she wasn’t comfortable with. Alice must have misunderstood. After all, she was pushing eighty, and sometimes her hearing wasn’t very good. Annie could have said this Mike character was a friend’s brother or something like that, and Alice just missed it.
It was the only logical explanation, but it did nothing to ease the jumble of nerves that coiled in his gut. No one knew better than he did just how sharp Alice Truelove was. She’d been managing the Lone Star Social Club for longer than anyone could remember and could tell you the name of every tenant who had ever lived there. She didn’t make mistakes about anything to do with her renters.
So who had Annie gone off with? And why was she driving some strange man’s van? She hadn’t driven since she’d lost her memory, and in the past, she’d never liked to drive other people’s vehicles. What the hell was going on?
Questions pulling at him, doubts churning like acid in his stomach, he slipped an arm around Alice’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s don’t go jumping to any conclusions. We don’t actually know that she’s in trouble. What about the cop that was assigned to watch over her?”
“He was nowhere in sight,” she said worriedly. “And she looked scared, Joe. She tried to pretend that everything was okay, but she had that same look in her eyes that she had when she first came back to you. You know—that terrified, hurt look that just made you want to wrap your arms around her and promise her she was safe.”
His jaw clenching, Joe nodded stiffly. Oh, yes, he remembered, all right. It was a look he’d hoped to never see in her eyes again. Dropping his arm from her shoulders, he dug in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “This doesn’t come close to showing my appreciation, Mr. Bishop,” he said quietly as he pressed it into the other man’s
hands. “But it should get you a good meal. If I can ever do anything for you, you’ll find me right here, rebuilding this place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see about my wife.”
With Alice at his side, he hurried back to the apartment, hoping against hope that Annie had returned while he was gone. But the apartment was empty and looked perfectly normal. She’d even locked the door when she’d left. There was no note, nothing to show why she had walked out of their apartment with a stranger looking scared to death.
The silence and a worry he couldn’t control tearing at him, he turned back from a quick inspection of the apartment to find Alice standing just inside the front door, twisting her hands. “I think we need to talk to Sam,” he said flatly, and headed next door.
Sam had a rare day off, but that only meant one thing. Instead of working down at the police station, he worked at home. A cup of coffee growing cold at his side, he grabbed one of the unsolved case files he’d brought home from the office with him and spread it out on the kitchen table in front of him. Concentrating on its contents, he didn’t hear the knock at the door. Then the doorbell rang.
He almost ignored it. He had a hell of a lot of work to do, and if that was Alice, she’d want to chat, and he just didn’t have the time. She was a sweet old lady, but she didn’t like to see anyone unhappy, and she’d been trying to find him a nice woman ever since he and his wife had divorced a month and a half ago. So far, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her she was wasting her time.
The doorbell rang again and he gave up in defeat. “Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
He strode into the living room, promising himself he was going to get rid of his visitor just as soon as he could. But the second he jerked open the front door and saw Joe and Alice standing there, their faces drawn and grave, he immediately motioned them inside. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
