by Mari Manning
You can’t always know what God intends for others, Kirby-nee.
Where was Seth now? What was he doing? Was he sorry? Was he hurt? Did he still want her?
A hiss, harsh and low and close, made her jump. “Mr. Maguire saw through your slutty ways just like I said.” Brittany had followed her.
Kirby paused in front of Frankie’s door. “This isn’t a good time.”
Brittany’s little mouth curled with malicious satisfaction. “Told you so.”
“I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t about you.”
“A real gentleman like Mr. Maguire wouldn’t talk about me with a slut like you.”
Kirby wanted to shake sense into the silly, stupid girl. You think that just because you’re good, you can fix people. Seth had nailed her in one angry sentence.
Maybe it was time she worked on herself. Let Seth deal with Brittany’s puppy love. But cantankerous, ham-handed Seth would probably make a mess of it. “Mr. Maguire is a grown man. A complicated one. I think you’re only seeing the parts of him you want to.”
“That’s not true. He needs someone who will take care of him.”
Kirby’s throat burned with unshed tears. She was trying to take care of him. “He needs a grown-up.”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I’m old enough to be with Mr. Maguire. Seth. Besides, I don’t need the biggest whore in all of Texas telling me about the man I love.”
It made Kirby angry. Not that Brittany wanted the same man Kirby loved. Not even that Brittany thought she was better. No. What was slowly igniting a blaze in the back of Kirby’s eyes was that Seth might hurt another dewy-eyed woman who couldn’t stop herself from falling in love with him.
And it made Kirby angry that stupid, naive Brittany was going to walk into the same trap as Kirby, thinking she was different, she was destined to tame this untamable man, she was Seth’s Joan of Arc, rescuing him from a lonely, loveless life. Well, everyone knew what happened to Joan of Arc. She got burned.
Letting the anger take hold of her tongue, Kirby stared down Brittany. “You are a complete nitwit if you think Seth is interested in you.”
Brittany’s jaw dropped. Her pale eyes gazed at Kirby in stunned disbelief. Then her heavy breasts heaved. Her arm flew up.
Yeah, right. Little Brit would have to move faster than that if she wanted to assault a police officer. Kirby grabbed the girl’s wrist in midswing and held it.
Brittany struggled to free her arm. Kirby’s grip tightened.
The girl squealed. “Ooh. Ouch. You’re hurting me. Let go.”
“Not until you calm down.”
Brittany raised her voice to scream level. “Someone help me. Please.”
Not good. The last thing Kirby needed was Mr. Shaw or Miss Bea or—God forbid—Seth running to Brittany’s rescue and discovering a catfight in progress.
“I’m going to release your wrist, but I want you to keep your arms down at your sides.” Kirby withdrew her hand.
Brittany rubbed at her wrist before looking at Kirby. “I wouldn’t touch you if—if—if you were made out of candy,” she sneered. She twisted away from Kirby. “Just leave me and Seth alone.”
Exasperated, Kirby called a warning at Brittany’s disappearing back. “You’re being pigheaded.”
Brittany stopped. “Am not.” She turned her head and looked back at Kirby. Through the dusty haze, her eyes gleamed. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?”
She swallowed hard to loosen the lump in her throat. Yes.
“It was an argument,” Kirby said. “People say things they don’t mean when they’re mad.”
“You’re so stupid, you probably think that. He doesn’t want you. He told you to leave him alone.”
There was no comeback to that. Brittany was right.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The longest night of Kirby’s life scraped by like nails on a chalkboard.
At dawn, the rumble of garage doors sent her flying to the window like a lovesick loser. But humiliation has its rewards. Seth emerged, haggard but handsome, and her comatose heart managed a tiny flutter before he jumped into the white pickup and drove away.
The sheriff had returned the white pickup before Miss Bea’s trial, which wasn’t protocol. But he probably didn’t need it with her prints all over the murder weapon.
Kirby’s forehead wrinkled. Either Miss Bea was the dumbest or craziest murderer in the history of crime sprees. Why not put the truck back where she found it? Why park it in the lavender where it was sure to draw attention? Miss Bea didn’t seem dumb or crazy, so why did she do it?
And the bloodstains. Why would a woman who disinfected an entire wing of the house on a daily basis leave a bloody mess in the truck?
A beam of light flashed at Kirby from the ridge. Blinded, she staggered back, shielding her eyes against the white glare. Dots of light danced in her eyes.
What the hell?
She shoved the drapes back. The ridge. Its high, curved sides reminded her of a slumbering giant. Or perhaps a giant crouched against the landscape, lying in wait. But for what? Her?
No more games. No more pretending to be Frankie. The answer to everything—Charleen’s disappearance, Bobby’s death, Zack’s murder—was on the ridge or it was nowhere, because it wasn’t in the west or east wings. It wasn’t in the barn or the orchard or the lavender fields. And it sure as hell wasn’t in Seth’s bed. So it had to be the ridge, because someone was up there. Someone not afraid and not hiding. Either she found the truth this morning or she didn’t. And if she didn’t, this afternoon she was going to the cops and then she was going home to Frankie and confessing defeat. If Seth wanted her, he could follow her to Tulsa.
Kirby threw on jeans, the Rangers jersey, and Miss Bea’s old runners. She braided her hair, tossed the green contacts in the trash, and dug in the panties drawer for her Glock. Dang. She’d have to grab Miss Bea’s rifle.
The only witness to her departure, Sarah Slade, cocked her head when Kirby jogged past. “Hurry, he’s this way. Hell’s bells.”
Kirby laughed. Resolution felt good. “Good morning to you, too, you noisy bird.” She sailed out the back door and sprinted across the drive. In the barn Manny was scooping out feed for the horses.
“Morning, Manny.”
“Morning, Miss Frances.”
Miss Bea’s rifle dangled from a rusty hook. Kirby nodded at it. “You think Miss Bea would mind if I borrowed her gun?”
Manny’s face turned redder than a flannel shirt. “The boss wouldn’t want you toting a gun. Miss Bea, either.”
“It’s just for a little bit. I want to go up to the quarry.”
His lips pursed stubbornly.
She floated a white lie past him. “I, uh, think I lost an earring, and, well, with the shooting and Zack, I’d just feel better.” If she had to get physical, she would. But she really didn’t want to hurt Manny.
“You have to ask the boss.”
Yeah, right. Kirby grabbed the rifle and prayed he wouldn’t try to wrestle it away from her. “It’s probably not loaded anyway.” She raised the bolt handle and pulled it back. One bullet in the chamber, two in the box.
Manny made a grab for the gun, but she locked it down and turned her back on him, aiming the rifle over the heads of lavender to check the sights again.
“If someone was up there, I could scare them away with this.”
“If Miss Bea catches you”—Manny grimaced—“she’d be steamed. The boss, too.”
“I’ll be quick. The rifle will be back here before anyone misses it.”
“Maybe I should go, too?”
She sidestepped his half question. “What’s the best way to get up the ridge without anyone in the house noticing?”
“You’d have to go out the back of the barn and circle the coach house and the big house and come out through the woods.”
“Thanks.”
Behind his thick glasses, his eyes registered disapproval. “Maybe y
ou should wait for the boss to get back. Shouldn’t be too long.”
“I don’t want to disturb him just for an earring.”
Another deep blush suffused his face. “I guess after yesterday, uh, well, he might get, uh, ornery if you asked him for help.”
“Exactly.”
“He wasn’t very nice to you. Mr. Shaw wouldn’t have liked that.”
“I should get going.”
“Miss Frances?” He kicked at the straw with his good foot.
“What?”
“I’m worried about Brittany. She’s got it in her fool head that the boss is going to marry her. I’m afraid he’ll hurt her feelings.”
Kirby really needed to get to the ridge before Seth returned. “I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Do you think it would be okay if I asked him to let her down easy? He could say that she’s beautiful and all that, but he’s not good enough for her.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
He studied the ground. “She’d never go with a guy like me. Not when there are guys like the boss with two good feet and seeing as far as he does.”
“You’ll never know if she’d go out with you unless you ask her.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I will.”
“I better go.”
“Miss Frances?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t tell you this before, but, uh, I heard someone on the ridge when Miss Charleen went missing. It’s probably nothing. That’s what the boss said.”
“The boss told you not to say anything to me?”
Manny’s eyes sidled away. “Not exactly. Anyway, it was a scream.”
She was going to kill Seth. How dare he interfere with her investigation? “Man or woman?”
“Woman. It sounded like you.”
Like me…or like Frankie? The thought froze in her brain. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to believe it. Maybe she still didn’t. But maybe she knew who was waiting for her on the ridge.
“Makes me think you shouldn’t go up there without the boss. Even if he is mad.”
Brittany’s voice rang across the barnyard. “Manny? Mr. Maguire?”
“Brittany?” Manny scurried from the barn.
Kirby slipped out the back, eager to confront who or what waited on the ridge so she could get the hell out of Texas.
She jogged around the coach house and crouch-walked behind a row of whitethorn. When she reached the house, she straightened, ran, stuck close to the walls, ducked into the shelter of the woods.
She glanced over her shoulder. No one had followed.
A hot wind stirred the air, rustling the leaves over her head. She slipped between trees, welcoming the shade, then she was in the lavender field and under the burning sun again.
Heavy with pollen, the lavender tickled her nose as she crept down shallow furrows. She batted away the tall heads, but they just swung back, covering the nape of her neck with fine seed. Leaving the shelter of the lavender, she climbed the ridge, adrenaline twitching in her limbs, blood pounding in her ears. She gently pushed aside brush and set down her feet, staying as quiet as possible.
She headed for the limestone outcropping looming over the trees, jumping from tree to tree. Through a screen of catclaw, the dull quarry water blinked, but she didn’t see any movement.
Had she imagined the light? Was this just her way of setting a deadline so she could give up and go home? She elbowed a low bush out of the way and stepped onto the limestone rimming the quarry at the water’s edge.
A slender figure slowly raised her arm. Pale fingers gripped Kirby’s Glock.
“It’s about time,” Frankie said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Here was a sight Seth didn’t see every day. A city slicker in a dark suit, briefcase wedged under his arm, hitchhiking. Must belong to the Cadillac with steam billowing under its hood.
Seth pulled up alongside him. “Having some trouble, sir?”
The man’s face shimmered with perspiration. Sunburned skin glowed under the pale strands of his comb-over. “My car broke down, and I’m late for an appointment at Shaw Valley Ranch.”
“Hop in.” Seth popped the lock. “I’m going that way myself.”
“Appreciate it. That sun was going to do me in before long.” The man climbed into the cab, leaned back, sighed deeply. “You saved my life.”
Seth cranked the AC. “So what’s your business at the ranch?”
“I’m Jonathan Cargill. Eenie Shaw’s attorney. Came out from L.A. last night and drove up from Austin this morning. Damn rental cars.”
“Seth Maguire. I’m the ranch manager.” He scanned the unbroken plain withering beneath a blazing sun. “Bad place to break down.”
“Good place to end up dead.”
When they pulled up to the house, Shaw was waiting. A worried frown creased his round forehead. He hustled down the steps.
Cargill climbed from the truck, dabbing his neck with a handkerchief. “How do you survive in this godforsaken place, Eenie?”
“And L.A. isn’t its own kind of hell?”
Cargill grunted, and the two men shook hands.
Shaw waved him toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. A glass of Bea’s sweet tea will revive you.” Shaw stopped and turned. “Mr. Maguire?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’d like you to hear what Jon has to say.”
“I got some things to do.” Poking his nose in Shaw family business didn’t feel right.
“You and Frances have grown close, and I imagine you have an interest in news that affects her.”
He’d spent all night reasoning his heartache away. Shaw had just brought it back. “I don’t want to interfere in family business.”
Shaw actually winked at him. “Could be your business someday, from the look of things.”
Cargill was studying him curiously.
Shit. Had the whole freaking world been watching him and Kirby? “No, thanks.”
Shaw’s gaze turned hard. “Consider it an order.”
Seth slammed the truck door and stomped after Shaw and Cargill. He’d never felt so stupid in his life. All he’d wanted was a little fun. This was happening because she had lied.
Miss Bea was waiting in the hall. “Brittany and I have searched the ranch. Miss Frances has disappeared. Again.”
Shaw patted her shoulder. “We’ll get started without her. Jon has to get back to L.A.”
Cargill dabbed his neck again. “I have a court date tomorrow morning.”
Miss Bea had opened the curtains and removed the macaw. A pitcher of sweet tea sweated on a coffee table. The parlor almost seemed normal as long as he ignored the dust hanging in the air and the creepy portrait of a beak-nosed old man over the mantle.
“Mr. Maguire, you sit over there.” Shaw waved his cane at a chubby, overstuffed chair covered with red flowers.
If Seth stayed, he’d be lying, and he was many things—most of them bad—but he didn’t lie. Just ask Kirby. “I really shouldn’t be here. Miss, uh, Frances and I aren’t that close.”
Shaw studied Seth. “I want you here.”
Miss Bea and Cargill were already perched on a red velvet sofa, and Shaw was lowering himself onto a high-backed leather chair with feet carved to mimic cattle hooves. He leaned forward and pointed his cane at the flowery chair.
“Set yourself down, Mr. Maguire.”
He did. But he was seething, only he wasn’t exactly sure whether he was mad at Shaw or Kirby.
Cargill riffled through his briefcase. “Here we are.” He pulled out a folder. “You were right, Eenie. Joe Swallow was married twice.”
Seth frowned. Joe Swallow? Why were they talking about Kirby’s daddy?
Cargill spread the folder across his knees and picked up a sheet of paper. “We didn’t catch it at first because the marriage took place in Mexico. Apparently neither Joe nor his first wife had it registered in the States. It only lasted a few years.”
“What a
bout divorce papers?” It was Miss Bea.
Cargill cleared his throat. “A petition was filed in Harris County, Texas, but the first Mrs. Swallow killed herself before any action was taken. We found an article in the Houston Chronicle dated a few days after the tragedy. She took sleeping pills. Her two-year-old daughter was found in the apartment with her.”
He was talking about Kirby.
She found her dead mother and still turned out better than me.
He should have held on to her, been the one who didn’t leave. Asshole.
He gazed out the window so he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. A pine swayed in the hot wind. Heat shimmered off the hood of the pickup. Where the hell was she?
Miss Bea leaned forward. Her little black eyes sparkled. “Thank the Lord. Joe had two heirs.”
“Correct,” Cargill said. “Kirby Adelaide Swallow and Frances Charleen Swallow.”
“Adelaide is the name of my great-great-aunt. The one who ran away and married into the Cherokee nation,” Shaw said.
“Yes, well, we still haven’t been able to contact this girl. She lives in Tulsa and works as a police officer, but she reportedly took a leave of absence a few weeks back. No one we’ve contacted is exactly sure where she went, although her supervisor told us she’s in Texas visiting a relative.”
“She’s here.” Through a fog of dread and shock, Seth’s own voice sounded a million miles away. Kirby was an heiress. Just like Frankie. Where is she?
Miss Bea’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“He’s right,” Shaw said. “She has been pretending to be her sister for the past few weeks.”
“Why would she do a fool thing like that?” It was Miss Bea again.
Seth’s sense of dread burst into full bloom. He should have seen it right away. Frankie hadn’t asked Kirby to Shaw Valley, she’d lured Kirby to Shaw Valley. And if he hadn’t been so hung up on Kirby herself, he would have seen it. If he’d gone to Shaw the second he’d known the truth, she’d be here. In this room. Safe.
But he’d chased after her like a hormone-crazed teenager. And all the while greedy Frankie was setting a trap for the sister who threatened her inheritance. One day…or night, when no one was looking, Kirby would walk through a door or into a field or over a hill, and Frankie would walk out. Who could prove Kirby had ever been here? No one would believe him. Or Shaw. Kirby would just disappear.
