Truly, Madly, Dangerously

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The woman’s head snapped around, and she was openly surprised to find that she’d been caught. An expression of fear crossed her face, but didn’t last. After a moment, Rhea actually smiled.

  “It would have been easier if you’d just stayed asleep, Deputy McCain,” she said.

  He heard a softly shuffling footstep behind him. Sadie had circled the house in the opposite direction and had taken the long way here.

  When Truman heard the grating scuffle of a hard heel dragging across the rocky ground, he knew it wasn’t Sadie. She’d been barefoot when she’d slipped out of the cabin. He spun, too late.

  Conrad Hudson, the Yellow Rose Motel’s missing desk clerk, popped Truman on the side of the head with a gun—Sadie’s gun?—and kicked out at the bad knee. Truman crumpled, pain shot through his leg and his head, and everything went black.

  Sadie reached for the knot on her head, but it was difficult, being that her wrists were tied together. Half awake and groggy, she gasped when a handful of cold water was splashed onto her face.

  “Come on,” Conrad said brusquely. “Wake up.”

  Sadie’s eyes drifted open. The sky was a touch lighter than it had been when she’d been cold-cocked from behind. All her attention had been on the prowler sneaking around Truman’s cabin. The second one had surprised her. Stupid! She never should’ve allowed him to sneak up on her.

  “You crooked son of a bitch,” she said as she struggled to sit up. He had dragged her all the way to the end of the dock, so that she sat not two feet from the edge. She glanced up. Conrad looked annoyed, and more than a little jumpy. Criminal mastermind he was not.

  “I don’t want to do this, I really don’t. But you just haven’t left us any choice.”

  Us?

  “I wish I could just shoot you and dump you in the lake and get it over with, fast and easy,” he said, shuffling his feet.

  It gave Sadie a small amount of hope to know that Conrad didn’t want to kill her. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. “That wouldn’t be very smart,” she said, her voice calm. Then again, Conrad had proven that he wasn’t very smart. “You won’t get away with it.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. Damn it, Sadie.” Conrad wiped at his forehead with his free hand, sweating even though it was quite chilly. “Why did you have to bring those goons to town? With all their questions and their snooping, they’re going to ruin everything.”

  “You think they’ll quit snooping if you shoot me?” she asked. “Think again.” Her eyes shot to the cabin. Where was Truman? Had he gotten away? Maybe gone for help?

  No. If he was able he’d be here, odds or no odds. She knew that. Her stomach sank. What had they done to him?

  Rhea Powell, Hearn’s airhead secretary, stood by the front door of the cabin, waiting for something. She looked bored, standing there with all the weight on one leg and her head cocked to one side as if she were sitting in a bar, posing and trying to pick up a guy for the night. She waved her hands expressively at Conrad.

  Sadie felt like an idiot. How many times had she played the airhead? Plenty. Everyone underestimated a woman who was only interested in her hair and her nails and her shoes.

  “What do they know?” Conrad asked, turning his attention to Sadie once again.

  “What does who know?” Sadie asked calmly.

  “Those men at the motel,” he said, his voice quick. “What did you tell them?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Rhea wants to know.”

  It was pretty clear Rhea was the brains in this two-man operation. “Rhea wants, Rhea wants,” Sadie droned. “Did you kill Hearn for her?”

  Conrad shook his head quickly. “We’re not going to talk about that. I just want you to tell me what those men know.”

  Sadie ignored the question. “What about Jason? What did he do to get on Rhea’s bad side?”

  The way Conrad cut his eyes to the side and swallowed hard… He might not have killed Hearn, but he’d definitely had something to do with Jason’s death.

  “Did Rhea make you kill him just to make the cops come after me? Is that it?”

  He didn’t deny it. Bingo.

  “And then you planted that bloody glove in Truman’s truck, because you knew I was here that night.”

  “It was just to throw them off the scent, that’s all,” Conrad muttered.

  “How many more people do you think Rhea’s going to ask you to kill, Conrad?” Sadie asked in a soft voice. “Is there going to be an end to it? Are you really going to shoot me?”

  “You’re not going to get shot,” Conrad said, his voice steadier than it had been a few minutes ago. Apparently he had made his decision, and she wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of anything. “You’re going to drown running away from the fire.”

  “What fire?”

  He looked at Rhea once again and shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he wasn’t getting the information she had asked for. The woman reached into the pocket of her tight black pants for something small. Sadie knew what Rhea held in her hand when she lit a match and tossed it at the cabin.

  The fire caught quickly and spread, eating up the gasoline that had been poured around the building.

  Home.

  Sadie tried to jump up, but her ankles were tied with a rough length of rope, much as her wrists were. She almost fell, but caught herself just before pitching forward and landing on her face. On her knees, she watched the fire spread. Rhea stepped toward the pier and away from the heat of the fire.

  “Where’s Truman?” Sadie asked.

  “Inside,” Conrad said in a low voice. “Unconscious. He won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

  Her heart started to pound, her breath caught in her throat. Not Truman. She didn’t care what happened to her, but she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him just because he’d had the misfortune to get involved with her.

  “Drag him out of there and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she offered. “I’ll send the goons home. I’ll confess to both murders. Just…get Truman out of there.”

  Conrad stepped closer to her. “It’s too late for that. All you had to do was sit back and let the sheriff and the ABI do their work. There might not have been enough evidence to convict you, but as long as you were the prime suspect they didn’t have any reason to look at me and Rhea.”

  “Why?” Sadie asked, her eyes on the fire.

  “Money,” Conrad answered. “Lots of it. Rhea’s really good with computers and such. Now and then while Hearn was out of the office she just moved things around a bit. Not a lot, not at first, but it did add up after a while.”

  “She’s a common thief,” Sadie snapped.

  “Not so common, if you ask me. She’s been moving money around for years.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “A few months ago Hearn figured out what she was up to. But instead of calling the cops, he demanded a cut and he made her sleep with him, even though she really wanted to be with me.”

  Yeah, make her out to be the victim. “She’s a thief, and Hearn was blackmailing her. Sounds to me like they deserved each other.”

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Rhea wanted to be with me, not him. She got tired of letting him put his hands on her, and last week he got rough with her and she had to defend herself. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “You don’t really believe that story, do you?” Sadie shouted. “She wasn’t defending herself. I saw the body. The man was reclining in the bathtub and she cut his throat. More than once, Conrad. She butchered him!” Her eyes cut to the cabin. The fire continued to spread but it hadn’t yet gotten out of control. “She’s using you just like she used Hearn. Once you do her dirty work, how long do you think it’ll be before she slits your throat?”

  Conrad looked genuinely shocked at the concept. “Rhea wouldn’t do that. She loves me.”

  “Women like that don’t love anyone but themselves. And money, of course.” Sadie kept her eyes on R
hea and the fire that now licked at the sides of the cabin. “What do you want to bet you have it all wrong?” she asked softly. “I’ll bet Rhea was with Hearn because she liked it, and she killed him because she got tired of sharing her precious money. She wants it all for herself, Conrad. Where do you think that leaves you?”

  “No, you’re wrong. She loves me.”

  “You’re the patsy, Conrad. The cops already think you’re dead and resting at the bottom of the lake, so if she does away with you, who’ll be any the wiser?” She looked him in the eye. “Let me go, and I’ll help you. You don’t need that tramp leading you around by the nose.”

  Conrad kicked Sadie in the side. “Don’t talk about Rhea that way.” He pointed the pistol—her own freakin’ pistol!—at her face. “We’re running out of time. What do the goons know?”

  Sadie made herself smile at him. “Everything, you sick SOB. They know everything.” Maybe she couldn’t save herself or Truman, but if these morons went after the Benning boys they wouldn’t have a chance. It was small comfort…

  The door to the cabin flew open, and Rhea let out a high-pitched scream. Face covered with a raised arm to shield himself from the thick smoke, Truman rushed out. It looked like he could barely walk at all, but he did manage to grab Rhea and rush them both away from the burning cabin.

  Conrad was distracted by the commotion, no doubt worried about Rhea and what might happen to her. Sadie took the opportunity to rise swiftly and swing her bound hands up to knock the pistol out of his hands. The weapon landed on the pier and skittered away.

  Truman pushed Rhea to the ground and started to run. Toward Sadie. He wasn’t supposed to be able to run, even on a good day. But he did. Eyes on her face, Rhea and the burning cabin forgotten, he ran to her.

  Unarmed, Conrad kicked at Sadie again. His boot found her belly, and she stumbled back. One step and she was almost steadied. The next step found air. For a moment she was suspended in midair, falling and breathless. Her attempt to catch herself on the edge of the pier failed. But she did manage to pitch herself forward. Just enough to bang her head on the edge of the weathered wood.

  She landed in cold, wet darkness, disoriented and on the verge of passing out, and she sank like a stone.

  Chapter 14

  Sadie fell into the water, disappearing in a split second with a splash.

  Her hands and feet were bound; she couldn’t swim.

  Truman ran, focusing on Conrad and ignoring the pain in his leg. He shouldn’t be standing, much less running, but dropping or even slowing down now wasn’t an option. Sadie was in the water, damn it.

  Conrad reached for the gun Sadie had knocked out of his hand. It had gone sailing a good four or five feet, so he had to scurry to reach it. The man who had kicked Sadie into the lake fell to his knees and lunged for the weapon but Truman reached it first. He scooped up the pistol while Conrad’s slender fingers were mere inches away.

  The part-time desk clerk who had been missing for more than a week and presumed dead for much of that week was frightened and unarmed. His hands popped up and he shook his head in quick, jerky motions. “Don’t shoot me. It was all her idea. I didn’t want to kill Jason, I really didn’t.”

  Truman’s eyes darted to the rift in the water where Sadie had fallen. He kept expecting her head to pop up out of the lake for a gulp of air, but it didn’t, and with every split second that passed he was achingly aware that she couldn’t breathe.

  “No need for this to get ugly,” Conrad said, his eyes on the gun.

  In the distance, sirens wailed. Someone had seen the smoke from the fire, and help was on the way. Fire department, the sheriff and his deputies, the volunteer EMTs. Maybe even Evans, if he figured out where the smoke was coming from.

  The water went still. Now there wasn’t even a ripple where Sadie had fallen.

  Truman spun, took aim, and fired. Rhea dropped to the ground screaming, thinking he was shooting at her. But when the front tire on the car Conrad had parked near the far end of the drive popped, she straightened up and started in surprise. Conrad made a frantic move toward Truman and the gun, but Truman was ready for him. An elbow in the gut and a twist of the arm, and the man went sailing into the water.

  Rhea turned and ran. Not toward the pier in order to help Conrad, but away from the scene.

  Truman tossed the pistol into the lake—in case Conrad made it out of the water before he did—and then ran a few more steps, diving into the spot where Sadie had fallen.

  Beneath the water he couldn’t see anything. It was too dark, too cold. Damn it, Sadie couldn’t swim, but she should be able to kick her feet and float a little! The water was too murky for him to see much of anything, but rising to the surface without Sadie was unthinkable. He kept pushing downward, kicking his feet and reaching into the darkness, until he saw the dim light of something other than mucky darkness before him. Pale flesh. Dark hair floating. Sadie did wiggle, perhaps as much as she could given the way she was bound, but her movements were small and ineffectual and did nothing to push her up.

  Truman reached out. His hand manacled Sadie’s wrist and he started kicking, propelling them both to the surface. His head came up out of the water, and he took a deep breath that filled his lungs with cool air. Sadie had been down longer than him…just a couple of minutes, but when you can’t breathe, a couple of minutes is a very long time. She, too, took a deep ragged breath as her head came up out of the lake.

  He kept her head above water and paddled toward the ladder at the end of the pier.

  The sirens were closer now…they were in his driveway. Conrad climbed out of the lake, dripping wet and shaking.

  “Come on, Sadie,” Truman said as he kicked and steered himself and the woman in his arms toward the pier ladder. He kept her chin, mouth and nose above water, as he inched toward safety. “Talk to me.”

  Instead of talking, she coughed raggedly and spat up some water. That done, she took another deep breath.

  Conrad ran, but it was too late. Not only was his front tire flat, he was now blocked by the arriving fire trucks and two patrol cars.

  Truman reached the ladder. He wasn’t sure he could climb it alone, much less get an obviously weakened Sadie up there. Bryce, who had been in the lead patrol car, was there to offer a hand, thank goodness. Together they got Sadie onto the pier, where she lay back and closed her eyes, and then Truman climbed the ladder himself, again with a hand from Bryce.

  He sat beside Sadie, still catching his breath and trying to make his heart rate slow to a normal rhythm. His T-shirt, the white one Sadie had grabbed and pulled on as they’d left the bed, was soaked and all but transparent. He watched each breath she took with relief while he worked on the wet knots at her wrists.

  “Blankets,” he rasped, and Bryce turned and ran.

  Behind Truman the cabin was going up in flames. He didn’t even turn to look. The fire department was doing their best, but he knew everything had been lost.

  No, not everything. Sadie was all right and so was he. At the moment nothing else mattered.

  When her wrists were freed he worked on the rope at her ankles. The knots were wet, but came loose easier than he’d expected they would. Sadie didn’t move. She lay there, silent and still, while he removed the ropes and tossed them aside.

  “Open your eyes and talk to me,” he commanded, his gaze riveted to Sadie’s face.

  For once, she obeyed his command. Her eyes drifted open and she looked at him. “I couldn’t breathe,” she rasped.

  “I know.”

  Sitting on the pier, soaking wet and cold, he lifted Sadie and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, shivering.

  “I’m not dead,” she said, sounding truly surprised.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I thought, for a minute there…” She didn’t dwell on what might’ve happened. A shiver worked through her body. “I’m cold.”

  He hauled her into his lap and ran his hands up and down her back, trying to gen
erate a little warmth. Bryce came running back, a wool blanket fetched from the trunk of his patrol car gripped in one hand. Truman took the blanket and wrapped it around Sadie.

  “Damn it,” she whispered. “Did they get away?”

  Truman glanced toward the house, where Sheriff Wilks had Rhea and Conrad well in hand. Rhea might’ve tried to run, but she hadn’t gotten far. “No. They didn’t get away.”

  Sadie sighed in relief, then she lifted her head slightly to watch the cabin burn. There was such a deep sadness in her eyes, he knew she hurt for what had been lost.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was small. Almost childlike. “It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s their fault.”

  “Your cabin…”

  “Can be rebuilt,” he said before she could go further.

  She rested her head against his chest, then took the ends of the blanket and wrapped it around him, so they were both cocooned in its warmth. Heat began to return to his skin.

  Bryce stood over them, unsure about what to do. He wrung his hands. “The EMTs are on the way.”

  “Radio in and send them back,” Truman insisted.

  Bryce shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “We don’t need any EMTs,” Sadie insisted. “We just need a few minutes to catch our breath. And maybe another blanket.”

  “I can handle that,” Bryce said, happy to have a job once again.

  When he was gone, Sadie lifted her head and looked Truman in the eye. “You ran.”

  “I did.” He likely couldn’t walk at the moment, but when it had counted, he’d done what he had to do.

  “You saved my life.”

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  Bryce returned with the extra blanket. He wanted to move Sadie to a patrol car and wait for the EMTs there, but neither of them were willing to move at the moment. So Bryce stepped to the end of the pier and let them be for now. They sat on the pier wrapped in two wool blankets, hanging on to one another for dear life.

  The fire department quickly got the flames under control. Maybe the cabin wouldn’t be a complete loss, after all.