And another thing. I talked to my dad's lawyer, and he says that if I die before I'm 21, my mom gets the money in the trust fund. That got me to thinking – what if she's planning to get rid of me too?
So I was wondering if maybe I should go to the police. Would you go with me? With my record, they probably wouldn't believe me, but if you go along they might take me more seriously. Anyway, I thought you would want to know, if not for my sake, then for your dad's. Please get in touch with me. And again, I'm sorry.
Cullen
PS I think she might have killed my dad too.
When they had finished reading the letter, Gwen demanded, “Well, what are you going to do about it? That bitch killed both Cullen and my dad! I want her arrested, and I want it now!”
Rafe looked at her steadily. “Ms. Mallinder, I think that investigating the possibility that your stepmother is responsible for Cullen's murder, as well as for your dad's death and that of Cullen's own father, is worth exploring. However, the contents of this letter aren't enough for us to get an arrest warrant.”
“But you do believe it, right? I was afraid you wouldn't – the part about Cullen, at least – what with Monieque being such a doting mother and all.”
“We are investigating multiple avenues with regard to Cullen's murder, Ms. Mallinder. We have not eliminated anyone as a suspect yet, including Cullen's mother. The statements contained in this letter appear to be credible, and we will be following up on them, including Cullen's allegations regarding the deaths of your father and his. You have my word on that. In the meantime, it would be wise for you to have no communication with your stepmother. Don't confront her. Let us do the investigating. We'll be thorough, I promise you. If there's anything to Cullen's suspicions, we'll do our best to uncover the evidence. Only hard, solid evidence that we can take to the DA will get us an arrest warrant.”
Gwen looked straight into his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I won't do anything on my own, unless I discover that you're just stringing me along and sitting on your asses doing nothing. In that case, I'll do whatever is necessary to get some action – go to the press, whatever. I want revenge. I want to watch that bitch fry in the electric chair for what she did to my father!”
Rafe thought about telling her that capital punishment in Colorado was carried out by lethal injection, but decided that now was not the time.
Gwen got up from her chair and started pacing the room restlessly. Taking some deep breaths in an attempt to rein in her emotions, she said presently, “You know, it never occurred to me that she had anything to do with my dad's death. I thought it was just an accident.”
“Did the police determine the cause of the accident?”
“I don't know. If I ever saw the police report, I don't remember what it said. I guess I was in shock. I do know that they determined that it was an accidental death. I mean, he hadn't been drinking or anything.” She paused for a minute, frowning in concentration. “My dad – he'd bought and restored one of those old classic muscle cars – a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. I think it suffered some sort of mechanical failure, but I'm not sure exactly what. I don't know much about cars.”
“What about Cullen's father? What do you know about his death?”
“Not much. Neither he nor Monieque ever mentioned the cause of his death, and I'll confess that I wasn't a bit curious about it.” She pondered for a moment, then added, “You know, Cullen had an aunt he kept in touch with. She was his dad's sister. Her name is Ellanor Torrense. Monieque hated her, so at first I was a little surprised when she actually let Cullen go and visit her sometimes, but later I figured out why she was being so unusually accommodating. Ellanor Torrense is loaded. Monieque was probably angling for her to leave her and Cullen a nice chunk of change in her will.”
“Can you tell us how to get in touch with her?”
“I don't have her contact information, but if she's not here already, she's on her way. She's not the kind that would miss the funeral. It shouldn't be hard to locate her. She'd know more about how Cullen's father died.” After a short pause, she said, “I'll keep my mouth shut about the letter to everyone else, but I need to show it to Cullen's aunt. She has a right to know.”
“Agreed. When we find out where she's staying, we'll give you a call, set up a meeting. It's too late to do much tonight, but we'll make it a priority tomorrow. I promise you that.” He rose to his feet. “Thank you, Ms. Mallinder. We'll arrange for a meeting with Cullen's aunt as soon as possible. We'll also look at the police report on your father's accident and speak to the lead investigator on the case. In the meantime, sit tight and wait to hear from us. We'll be in touch.”
Once they were back in the car, Rafe commented, “Looks like your instincts were right on the money, D.C.”
Dawn suppressed a smile at the mode of address he'd used. From long habit, Rafe usually called her by her given name when they were alone. However, he referred to her by her initials when they were around other police officers. It was the norm established by Nick Melbourne when she had joined the force. She could still picture Nick when he'd dropped her off for her first day at the police academy saying, “You're going to need a nickname. Otherwise, some joker around here is going start calling you 'Cim' or 'Cimmy' or some other sissified variation of your last name, and we can't have that. So let's go with D.C. You got any objection to that?”
She hadn't, of course. Nick was her inspiration, her mentor. She'd have gone along with just about anything he'd suggested back then. And although nowadays Rafe sometimes called her by her nickname even when they were alone, she understood that his use of her initials on this particular occasion was a sort of compliment, an acknowledgment of her skills as a detective.
Knowing that he wouldn't want her to make a big deal about it, however, she didn't comment on it, merely responding, “The contents of the letter sure seem to confirm that Monieque Torrense may be something other than the grief-stricken mother she appears to be on the surface. I'll be interested in finding out if there's a connection between her and Jago Bolt. And the reports on Gwen's father and Cullen's dad might make for some mighty interesting reading.”
“Yeah, but that's for another day. You know what Nick used to say: 'A tired cop is more likely to end up as a dead cop.'” Let's put it away for the night, get some sleep, and pick it up in the morning.”
Once she had dropped Rafe off at his place, she made her way home. Ty was still up, but taking Rafe's words to heart, she said good-night and went straight up to bed. As she lay there poised just at the edge of consciousness, the image of the ranch and the memories associated with it rose to the top of her mind. Then, as she went over the edge into slumber, the memories melted into dreams, and dreams transitioned into nightmares...
The child was running as fast as her little legs could carry her, but she was not even three years old yet, and the bear was gaining on her, getting closer and closer as the seconds ticked by. Soon, very soon, it would be upon her.
Dawn stood on the far side of a stream, watching as a twelve-year-old phantom of herself desperately raced into the water. She had to get across before the bear caught up with the child, snatch her up and get the baby to safety. But as she reached the middle of the stream, she got stuck. Looking down, she saw long, black weeds twined around her legs, holding her back. She had to free herself from them before she could get to the other side of the stream and rescue her sister. Impatiently, she bent down and grasped a handful of the weeds, trying to tear them loose and free her legs. But instead of weeds, she was holding hair in her hands, clumps of long black hair that was just like her own. She looked down again into the flowing water, refusing to believe her eyes at first. And then she recognized what she was looking at, and she heard herself, as if from a great distance away, give a long keening wail of anguish..
Heart pounding, sweat pouring down her back, Dawn pulled herself out of the depths of the dream. She reached for Ty, but her groping hand found nothing but empty space. A little
shakily, she raised herself to a sitting position, unfolded her legs over the side of the bed, turned on the light, and picked up the photograph that sat on her nightstand. Slowly, she traced their faces, her mother's and Marina's. This is how she wanted to remember them, laughing and happy on a carefree summer day.
Forcing the nightmare out of her head, she placed the photograph back on the nightstand, stood up, and crossed into the adjoining bedroom, where Ty was sprawled out exactly in the middle of an ocean-sized bed. She pulled back the covers and slipped in with him, cuddling close, seeking his warmth like a frozen woman. At the first touch of her body, Ty immediately awakened.
“Nightmare?” he said. A sound of assent from Dawn.
“Bear again?” Another murmur of assent.
Ty put on his best official voice: “No bears in here, ma’am. Just us horny, lecherous, aggressive military types, that's all.”
He got a poke in the ribs for that one, but he heard the laugh she tried to suppress, and felt some of the tension drain out of her.
Later, after he could tell that she slept again – which was a small miracle in itself, since she usually slept better when she was alone in her own bed - he rolled onto his back and propped his head on his hands, musing on all the steps that had led them to this point on the thorny path of marriage.
Getting her to marry him – that had been easy. Getting her to agree to remain married to him - now that had been difficult - almost as difficult as a military op. And they would never have gotten married in the first place, if it hadn't been for the wild streak that lay buried beneath Dawn's cool surface, a wild streak that she indulged in only in the company of a select group of people she absolutely trusted.
He'd been surprised that day when she'd asked him to fly her to Vegas. Dawn and Vegas? Not exactly a combination that he would have put together. But he had complied eagerly, gotten the best accommodations at one of the top hotels, and joined her in a nonstop excursion of drinking, dancing, and gambling. Finally, she'd turned to him and said, “That's it. I'm busted. No more gambling. So what do you want to do now?”
He hadn't gotten the reputation for being the quickest-thinking pilot in the Air Force for nothing.
“How about getting married?”
She'd blinked at him, nodded once or twice, and replied, “Great idea. Let's go do it.”
It was Vegas. It was so easy.
The next day they had scarcely made it out of bed, and the sharp edges of time had been blurred as they reveled in a sexual marathon that had precluded anything even resembling rational thinking. The following day, however, it had been a different story. Dawn had shaken him awake and told him in a voice verging upon panic that she hadn't been thinking clearly for the last couple of days, and she was having second thoughts. In short, she wanted a divorce, and she wanted it now.
Knowing that her past history had made her wary of forging long-lasting attachments that held within them even the remote possibility of loss, he had been expecting something of the sort, so she had not caught him unprepared. He'd had his campaign all mapped out in advance, and he had never engaged an opponent in battle with more finesse than he used that day to persuade her into giving the marriage a chance. He'd zeroed in on her as he listened patiently to her explanation of why she wanted to dissolve the union: according to her, the whole thing was doomed to failure because they had rushed into it and never talked about all the important marriage things - things like finances and kids, future goals and mutual compatibility. Then he'd gotten around her by doing the one thing he usually avoided like the plague: he'd talked about his feelings. How he'd never felt this way about anyone before, ever in his life. How he was sure she felt the same way about him. Some people never found that. Why throw it away without giving it a try? When he saw that she was weakening, he went for the green light. As soon as they got back to Mountpelier, he'd promised, they'd contact a marriage counselor and discuss all the things couples were supposed to discuss when they were considering marriage. If, after a year, they found that they weren't compatible enough to remain married, he'd give her a divorce. That had done it. Admitting that she loved him too much just to walk away, she'd agreed to give it a try.
Secretly, he'd been hoping he could avoid going through with the marriage counseling bit. He realized he'd been way too optimistic after they'd returned home and moved in together. Within weeks, it became obvious that they needed help. Serious help.
Fortunately, they had found the right couple to counsel them. Sylvia and Nolan Drizedale had been a godsend, helping them thread their way through the minefields of their first year of marriage. Advising them to build the duplex had been one of their strokes of genius. Both he and Dawn had been pretty set in their own ways. With the duplex, he was free to do what he wanted on his side, and she on hers. It was working. But even if it hadn't, he would have found another way. Because there was no way he was ever letting go of Dawn Cimarron. Not after everything that they had been through together.
Still, just in the interest of fairness, when their first anniversary rolled around, he'd reminded Dawn that he had promised her to give her a divorce if things didn't work out. He'd been gratified at her startled look. She'd totally forgotten about it, which was just fine with him.
“There's no way I'm ever going to divorce you,” she'd told him flatly. “You're stuck with me, Tyrell Lewellen.”
Since she'd put it that way, he'd persuaded her to have a second ceremony, this time with some family and friends in attendance, and renew their vows. She'd agreed, telling him that it was a good idea, since she could barely remember the first ceremony. So they'd done it, and this time they had pledged to spend the rest of their lives together. Always and forever, they'd promised, and it was a small miracle that, given her commitment issues, he'd been able to get Dawn to say it in front of witnesses. There was no going back now, he'd thought with relief. Keeping promises was just as important to her as it was to him.
He turned his head to look at her again as she slept beside him. In the moonlight that was streaming in from the window, he could just make out her features. They were composed and peaceful, so he was hopeful that there would be no more nightmares tonight. Easing his arm from under her head, he used the discipline he had acquired from years in the military to clear his mind so that he could drift back to sleep. He needed to be fresh and alert when they resumed the search in the morning.
The sound of the alarm screaming viciously in her ear pulled Dawn out of the welcome depths of unconsciousness. Of Ty there was no sign, but that was not unusual. He generally woke up as hungry as a horse and just pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt before bounding down to his kitchen to begin getting out whatever he needed to make breakfast. No matter what time he got up, though, Mrs. Tilner would make her appearance before he had finished shutting the first cupboard. Breakfast 'a la Tilner would follow, an enormous spread. Dawn, whose stomach took longer to wake up than the rest of her, always showered and dressed before joining him and breakfasting on a far smaller repast of coffee and toast, all the while marveling at how her husband could tuck away so much food and still remain as lean and sleek as a panther.
She wandered through the connecting door to her own bedroom and grabbed a warm terrycloth robe in a shade of rich burgundy out of the closet. After studying her wardrobe thoughtfully, she proceeded to pull out a pair of chocolate brown slacks to start with. If they got lucky and spotted the car, she wanted something that wouldn't show stains easily. A pair of sturdy boots followed. A forest green sweater and a jacket in the same chocolate brown as the slacks followed. Satisfied, Dawn walked into the bathroom, hung her robe up on the hook, and climbed into the shower. Reveling in the hot, pulsating spray, she smiled when she recalled the pitiful trickle that had passed for a shower when she had been a child growing up on the ranch. Any time she and Josiah had complained, Mom had pointed out the advantages of the set up. It was the ultimate in time efficiency, she'd insisted. They wouldn't be tempted to linger i
n the shower, so they'd have more time to play. Josiah would just roll his eyes. Josiah...
With a conscious effort, Dawn forced her mind back to the present. She finished up her shower expeditiously, got dressed, and went down to her own kitchen. Ty, upon discovering that she preferred to make her own coffee, had gifted her with a state-of-the-art coffee maker; so in a matter of minutes, coffee cup in hand, she was on her way through the connecting door to the twin kitchen of the duplex.
It was omelets today, she noted as she crossed to the breakfast nook where Ty was seated. Omelets and hash browns, fat little sausages, orange juice and English muffins. As she seated herself at the table, Mrs. Tilner appeared magically at her side with a plate of toast in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other. Dawn smiled her thanks and watched as the housekeeper made a discreet exit into her own quarters at the back of the house. After a rocky start, she and Mrs. T. had learned to respect each other and make their relationship work. It hadn't been easy, considering that the hiring of Mrs. Tilner had provoked the first serious fight she and Ty had had as a married couple.
Ty had met Mrs. Tilner at a veterans center where they both volunteered. He discovered that she was a widow who had lost her only son, a marine who had been deployed to Afghanistan and killed in combat there, and that she constantly struggled to make ends meet. She always brought marvelous food and cookies to the center, though, and one day shortly after he and Dawn had been married, he had impulsively offered her a job, without talking to Dawn first. The resulting fight had been epic in proportions, and it had prompted them to go through with the idea of marriage counseling. Dawn smiled, remembering how she had held Ty to his promise to seek out marriage counseling at the first sign of any marital problems, one of her conditions before she'd agreed to give the marriage a shot, instead of seeking a quick divorce after their drunken Las Vegas wedding.
When the Tiger Kills Page 5
