PacksBrokenHeart
Page 11
“For what?” Owen yelled back.
“Murder, you lying snake in the grass piece of shit.”
“Murder? Who? What the—?”
“Cory Amos, you dumbass. I’m arresting you for the murder of Cory Amos.”
Owen blinked. His head ached from the sudden, deafening silence. Cory? Cory was dead?
“You had means, motive and opportunity,” Suzanne hissed. The venom in her voice made his stomach roil…and not because he’d taken a shot to the head less than a half-hour before. “Cory’s neck was snapped and it wasn’t done by an amateur.” She stepped in front of him, dropped her face near his and sneered.
Owen wished she wasn’t standing between his legs. He wanted to squeeze his thighs together and protect his boy bits from her. Whatever else she was, the fine deputy sheriff, at the moment, was scary. Eyes bugging out and mouths open, Tom and Wally stared at her as if she’d gone insane.
Suzanne continued in a quiet, furious tone, “Whoever did it left wide tire tracks on the unpaved parking lot behind the pharmacy. There are boot tracks too.” She jammed the toe of her brown steel-toed boot into his.
“A group of weres,” Owen shot back, “jumped me outside my place.” He might be liking the way those full round breasts of hers were moving beneath her brown uniform shirt but he didn’t lie down and bare his belly for anybody. “They gassed me with citronella spray.”
“What kind of lame-ass excuse is that?” she demanded but her nose was wrinkling like she was finally registering the smell coming off him.
Owen stood up so suddenly she staggered back a step. “The proof’s right here, in my front pocket.” He shoved his hip at her.
“Shove that thing in my direction once more and you’ll find yourself neutered.”
“Are you always this dense or is it just your blonde roots showing? Check the pocket. I kept one of the spray trainers they used. The rest are scattered over my front lawn. What? You think I like admitting I was brought down by a dog-training device?”
Throughout all this Tom had stood one step behind Suzanne. Now he took the lead, reached around her, slid two fingers into the pocket of Owen’s jeans and pulled out the small black plastic box. He sniffed it then held it up for Suzanne to do the same. Like Tom, she recoiled from the strong residual smell.
Owen watched them peer at his eyes. They still felt puffy and he bet they were red as hell too.
After a moment Tom’s mouth thinned. “What were,” he said slowly, “especially one as strong as Owen, would admit to something so humiliating unless it was the truth?”
“I also didn’t hit myself in the head with a baseball bat, or across the back of my knees.” Owen made a deliberate effort to bring his anger down a notch. Cory was dead. He couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it.
Suzanne shot him a skeptical look but she examined the side of his head, glanced at the open first-aid kit and the ice pack sitting on the desk. She held her breath for a moment then exhaled, slowly. “Show us your injuries,” she said in a calm, professional voice, then stepped behind him and unlocked the handcuffs.
Without argument, Owen loosened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his hips. “Guess Momma was right about the clean underwear,” he deadpanned when Tom joined Suzanne. He felt her warm fingertips smooth over the backs of his knees, right where the swelling was starting to rise.
“Wally,” Tom said, “get us another couple ice packs, would you?”
Owen took off his jacket and lifted his shirt. He winced mentally when he saw the red, swollen imprint of a fist over his ribs. In a day the bruising would be ugly as hell. When Wally came back Tom took one of the ice packs and held it against Owen’s side.
“Hope nobody drops by,” Owen quipped, even though he didn’t feel much like laughing. “What would the citizens of Pinebridge think if they saw me with my drawers down and you two with your hands all over me?”
Grinning crookedly, Tom used the back of his hand to slap Owen lightly—right on his rising bruise. Owen flinched.
“Sorry, buddy,” Tom said dryly. “Suppose I should have asked if you thought anything was broken first.” His grin, even though it faded quickly, took the sting out of the teasing slap. Getting hit actually made Owen feel better. If he’d been hurt bad the big cop would never have treated Owen’s injuries so lightly.
Owen let them tend to him—ice his wounds, drizzle more water in his eyes. He could have taken care of himself. He was used to taking care of himself. Still, when Wally walked back to the dispatcher’s station to respond to an incoming call Owen felt peaceful with Suzanne and Tom near. When his bruises were iced to numbness he pulled up his jeans and tucked in his shirt.
“Okay but why him?” Suzanne asked. She sat on the edge of the desk, one foot dangling and one on the floor. With her arms crossed in front of her, she looked pensive instead of angry for a change.
“I can think of a good reason,” Tom said. He pulled up a chair, sat down and stretched out his long legs. “It was an attempt to injure Owen or overpower him so he’d have no choice but to leave. Think about it. An attack like that was meant to humiliate him. It would have if those boys had managed to beat you.” Tom nodded slowly and pointed at Owen. “He leaves the same night Cory’s murdered…” Tom’s voice faltered when he said Cory’s name. “And he implicates himself. Also, he leaves and…and the strongest male in our pack leaves the same night our Alpha’s murdered.”
Suzanne transferred the call she’d placed to Cutler to the speakerphone in the station’s conference room.
“I agree with Tom’s theory,” the Alpha said. He sounded tired and angry at the same time. “The strongest males in Pinebridge are being eliminated systematically. Tom, as acting sheriff, you make your own decisions about how to handle this investigation but I’d suggest you assign deputies to keep a close eye on Roger Madison and Skip Walters.”
“You think they’re suspects? Not them. No way.” Roger owned one of the grocery stores in town. Skip worked as a foreman for one of the big ranches in the area.
“No. Just the opposite. When I was there I pegged them as two of your pack’s strongest males. Potential candidates to step in and take on Ed’s role as Beta.”
Tom’s brow furrowed then he nodded. “Agreed. I’ll meet with them tonight. Tell them what’s going on and set up a roster to keep them under surveillance.”
“And Tom…assign a deputy to keep a watch on you too.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You.”
Tom’s brow furrowed again. Deeper this time. His head came up. Suzanne was giving him one of those cool, assessing looks of hers then she nodded. Owen shrugged and nodded too.
Cutler continued, “With Ed gone you’re a logical choice for Beta, Tom. No insult intended but I’m not sure you’ve got what it takes to be an Alpha. Especially now when your pack needs a powerhouse leader. Leaders,” Cutler added, correcting himself.
“No insult taken, Sheriff,” Tom said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Once or twice Ed and I talked about me moving up in the ranks. We joked about me honing my fighting skills. Funny thing was, in the back of my mind I kind of felt he wasn’t joking.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to him more outside the job. He was a good male and there wasn’t enough time to learn all I could from him.”
Cutler hadn’t mentioned sending Owen there to investigate and Owen decided not to bring it up either. At this point it might muddy the waters.
“That’s something you’ll have to process another time, Tom,” Cutler said. “What your pack needs now is strong interim leadership. You’ve got a helluva situation unraveling there. I need the three of you to step in and step up. Yes, Suzanne, the three of you,” Cutler added even before Suzanne’s growl rumbled through the room. “Whether Owen stays or not he’s got Alpha written all over him. That pack needs him now.
“I’m your Alpha, Suzanne, and I trust Owen. It comes down to whether you accept my judgment.”
“I accept your judgment, Cutler. You know I do.” She exhaled slowly. “I also agree with Tom. Whoever’s behind this has destabilized the hierarchy. That said, in the absence of worthy leadership, people will cleave to anybody who steps up and dazzles them with a few well-chosen words. Best-case scenario, that’s what whoever’s behind this is waiting to do.”
Tom nodded. “Wipe out the hierarchy and step into the void,” he added. “Worst-case scenario? The killing hasn’t stopped and Owen and I, as well as the other two fellas, are at the top of the hit list.”
“Agreed,” Cutler said. “Protect Roger and Skip then protect yourselves by staying together.”
“No way, Cutler,” Suzanne interrupted hotly.
“I know you and Owen are like oil and water.”
Owen wondered where he’d heard that recently.
“Well, think of Tom as soap,” Cutler suggested with the high-handed, unshakeable confidence of an Alpha. “He’ll let you bind. Make you a cohesive team that can lead that pack through this. When it’s over, Suzanne, you can bite Owen’s ass on the way out the door. Nobody will reprimand you for it, me included.”
When he woke up the next morning Owen stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. He was in Tom’s guest room. Somebody was using the shower down the hall and he sat up gingerly. There was a goose egg on the side of his head that hurt only when he touched it. His ribs were tender but nothing that would sideline him.
His legs were another matter. They were sore and stiff and the backs of his knees were swollen enough he couldn’t bend his legs all the way. He forced himself to walk down the hall, around the living room and back again. Tom, who’d camped out on the sofa, watched him.
“Bad?” Tom asked. He got up, stretched and started folding up the blankets he’d used.
“Could be worse. Walking it off is helping.”
The shower had stopped and Suzanne came out of the bathroom. Owen stared at her for a moment. She was so pretty—pink and freshly scrubbed. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and it emphasized her cheekbones. She stared right back at him then, like the night before, something in her expression softened. Inhaling slowly and deeply, Owen took in her scent and liked that too. Then he yawned. Tom did too.
They hadn’t got much sleep. After Tom had contacted Roger and Skip and browbeat them into accepting police protection he’d driven Owen and Suzanne back to the site of Cory’s murder.
Owen still couldn’t believe he was gone. While Tom had directed the other officers, Suzanne had walked Owen through the crime scene. Cory’s Cadillac was parked in the middle of a taped-off section. It looked forlorn.
“We believe he was killed after locking up,” Suzanne had said, snapping him out of his reverie. “Employees told us he leaves through the back, where he parks his car.”
Owen had liked this side of Suzanne. Professional, straight to the point, confident without being overbearing. He guessed he was the one who brought out the ornery side of her. If they were going to be spending time together he’d have to correct that.
“We took casts of the tire impressions,” she’d said as they walked around the taped-off area. “There are no signs of attempted forced entry so whoever it was wasn’t trying to break into the pharmacy. That’s especially troubling because Cory had the keys to the place in his hand when he was killed. They keys to his car were on the same ring.”
“So no robbery. What was the killer driving?” Owen had asked.
“A pickup. Full-sized, like yours.” She’d looked up at him and her expression had been apologetic. “That truck had snow tires on though. Yours doesn’t have any.”
“Problem is,” Tom had said as he walked up to them, pulling off a pair of latex gloves, “just about every second vehicle in the state is a pickup and everybody’s taking off their snow tires about now. We won’t find a matching tread unless we check every garage, shed and auto shop with a three-county radius. Even then we’d find too many matches.”
Owen roused himself from his musings and forced his attention to the two deputy sheriffs standing in the living room with him. “What’ll you two do this morning?” He’d meant the question to convey simple curiosity. Instead it came out with a note of command. Why was it he couldn’t lay off stepping in and taking things over? No matter what the situation was.
“We’ll go into the station,” Tom answered without a hint of attitude, as if he had no problem with Owen’s bossiness. “We’ll start going over the evidence, interview witnesses.” He headed down the hallway, grabbed fresh towels out of a closet and walked into the bathroom. Tom’s house was small—only two bedrooms and one bathroom. “Correction. Witness. Somebody heard a muffled shot but nothing else.”
“Not even a vehicle peeling out?” Owen asked. He sat down on the closed toilet seat while Tom yanked off his T-shirt and sweats and turned on the shower.
“No. Now that you mention it, no.”
“Damn. That’s cold,” Owen said to the shower curtain as it closed behind Tom. “And…professional.”
Suzanne stepped into the bathroom carrying a big satchel of cosmetics. She began applying color and god knew what else with sponges and little brushes. “What about you?” she asked Owen.
“I’m going out to Cory’s. See if Piper needs anything.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tom said from inside the shower. The sound of the spray kept changing, as if he was moving around under it. “And thanks. We’ll drop by too. I imagine everybody will at one point or another.”
“Maybe while I’m there,” Owen said, thinking out loud, “I’ll keep a running tally in my head. See if somebody doesn’t show or if they try to insert themselves into the investigation.”
“Somebody other than you?” Suzanne asked. She shot him a wry grin then undid her ponytail, fluffed her hair and started pinning it up.
Mesmerized, he watched the efficient movements of her hands. They looked small, delicate and for some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off them arranging that pale, shiny hair of hers. She was wearing a pair of low-riding sleeping pants and a camisole top. Bright pink polish highlighted her toenails. Her breasts swayed with the movement of her arms and her nipples…
He hadn’t even noticed the shower turning off or Tom stepping out with a towel wrapped around his hips. Looking away from Suzanne, Owen cleared his throat and tossed a second towel to Tom without being asked. “Yeah,” Owen said, finally getting his head together enough to answer Suzanne’s question. “Somebody other than me.”
“Damn, Wells, you’ve got a natural instinct for this,” Tom said and crowded Suzanne away from the front of the sink so he could reach his toothbrush.
“Don’t know about natural.” Owen shrugged, flexed his knees and stood gingerly. He untied the borrowed sweatpants he was wearing, let them drop and stepped into the shower. They’d all agreed it was a prudent idea to camp out at Tom’s house overnight, although Suzanne had insisted on dropping by her apartment to grab what she called the basics. According to her, lip liner was a basic necessity. “In the sandbox I got used to looking for danger everywhere and honed my talent for sniffing it out. Although I’m severely pissed at myself for not sniffing those boys out in the dark.” He didn’t mention that, at the time, he’d been thinking about Suzanne’s ass instead of scanning the area for danger. The hot water felt good on the backs of his legs and he braced his hands against the far end of the enclosure, letting the spray loosen him up.
“Just keep your eyes open and don’t go anywhere alone.” Tom’s voice was distorted, as if he was talking around a mouthful of toothpaste. “I’d hate to have to phone Sheriff Cutler Powell and tell him I let his mate’s best buddy get killed.”
Suzanne piped up. “I wouldn’t mind so much.”
It was still early morning when Owen, Tom and Suzanne stepped up to Piper’s front door. After getting dressed and eating a quick bowl of cereal, they’d driven to Owen’s house. He’d put on his dress uniform, packed the rest of his clothes and thrown his suitcase in the back of Tom’s pickup. Owen’s truck was still parked beside the sheriff’s office. Suzanne followed them in her beefy SUV. They’d gone back to her apartment next and came out with three heavy suitcases.
“Do you actually need eight pairs of shoes?” Owen had complained as he lugged a suitcase down the narrow flight of stairs.
“Don’t dis a woman’s shoes, Wells.” Her voice had echoed up the stairwell with unarguable authority.
“Yeah but do you need the pink high heels?” He knew he was pressing his luck but he did so like to rile her.
“It’s early. I haven’t had coffee. Do not start in on me.”
Owen figured the prudent thing to do was shut his mouth. The arch look Tom shot over his shoulder at him confirmed it.
As they waited for someone to answer the doorbell at Piper’s, Owen realized the three of them had presented a cohesive unit, driving like a convoy through town. Twice. Windows down, they’d scented the town and left their scents in their wake. In a community on the verge of chaos and hiding behind locked doors, if that drive didn’t trumpet confidence and a take-charge attitude Owen didn’t know what did.
They were admitted by a woman Owen recognized as one of Piper’s sisters. She led them through to the kitchen. The house smelled faintly of were and floor polish. Every surface was immaculately clean, as if someone had been up all night scrubbing. Katherine Clark, the pack’s top bitch and, Owen remembered belatedly, Cory’s cousin, shot him a suspicious look as he walked past. She seemed too busy talking on the phone to someone about funeral arrangements to pay him more attention than that. Her eyes were puffy and she looked as if she hadn’t slept.
“Owen.” Piper’s greeting was warm although her voice wasn’t as strong as usual. She held out her hands, took hold of his arms then fussed over his overseas service bars, straightened pins that were already straight. “You look so handsome. Cory would be so proud…” Her voice faltered then stopped altogether. When the first tear slid down her cheek, without stopping to think about it Owen opened his arms and touched the back of her neck until she laid her head on his sleeve. She hiccupped but didn’t sob. He wondered if she was even able to cry out her pain yet.