by Jodi Thomas
Lexie reached for him, but he stepped away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her straighten. She was not a woman anyone backed away from. Whatever she wanted, he wasn’t interested. If he could grab the bloodstone right now, he’d hit his skull hard, hoping the rock or the crack in his head might allow him to forget every memory he had of Lexie Davis.
For the first time, he saw what she really was, who she was, all wrapped up in pretty ribbons. The gift she was offering only looked good before it was unwrapped.
He nodded once to Angie. She quickly gathered up her things and for once didn’t argue as he opened the door. They were at his Tahoe before he glanced back. Lexie was standing at the counter staring out at him and this time he didn’t see her beauty.
In the darkness, as they headed toward the museum, Angie asked, “Are you all right?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He fought to keep the anger from his voice. He could think of a hundred things he should have said to Lexie but all he thought about was getting away from her.
Glancing over, he saw Angie sitting all proper, her hands folded in her lap. He’d frightened her. He half expected her to say she was staying at her own place tonight. All he’d thought about was getting back to Angie and now, apparently, he couldn’t seem to talk to her.
“All right,” she agreed. “We don’t have to talk at all.”
When they got to the museum, she climbed out. “Thank you for the dinner.” She was so formal ice seemed to rattle out with her words. “I need to put the book and the stone back in my office before I follow you to the ranch. If you’ll make the coffee, I’ll be there by the time it’s ready and we can all have dessert. I promised Vern chocolate cake tonight.”
“All?” He tried to sound relaxed. “Does that mean me, too?”
She grinned. “I showed Vern the cake earlier, and he said he’d invite Carter over.” She walked up the steps of the museum.
He cut his engine and stepped out, planning to follow her in. “I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary. Nigel Walls is still in there cleaning. I’ll be safe.” Her words were formal again as if he were no more than a stranger.
Wilkes felt like a jackass. “I’m sorry, Angie. I guess I wasn’t prepared to see an old girlfriend tonight.” He took the steps two at a time and caught up to her. “I hate that she kissed me like I still mattered to her. Like I ever mattered to her.”
“I understand. You’re still in love with her. Look, Wilkes, we’re just friends. It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay, Angie. You don’t understand. I’m not still in love with her. I haven’t been for a long time.” He touched her shoulder and smiled when Angie didn’t bolt. “I wish I could wash the taste of her kiss away.”
She didn’t move. Those big eyes just stared up at him as if trying to see into his soul.
“I wish...” He touched her strawberry hair so soft and curly it was almost fuzzy. “I wish you’d been the one to kiss me tonight.”
He leaned in and almost touched her mouth. “I want to remember the taste of honey tonight.”
She shook her head. “Don’t use me to forget. I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice.”
He kissed her forehead knowing she was right. He didn’t want to kiss her with Lexie still in his thoughts. “I’m not using you. But I’ve no way of proving that to you.” Now wasn’t the time to tell her that she’d been all he thought about for days. “How about dinner tomorrow night, just us? We can drive over to Lubbock, where no one will know us.”
She smiled. “You going to bring Uncle Vern and Carter along?”
“Nope.”
“But what will we talk about?”
He grinned. “We’ll think of something.”
“Then I’ll go.”
He fought to keep from touching her. “Want me to wait out here while you go in?”
“No. The sheriff says the stalker hasn’t been seen for a week. He’s long gone. I can’t spend the rest of my life having everyone worry about me. I’m sure I’m fine. After dessert at your place, I think I’ll move back to my cabin.” When Wilkes didn’t move, she added, “The janitor will see me to my car as soon as I run up to the office, and if I see anyone following me, I’ll call.”
“All right.” Wilkes knew she was safe and there was no time to talk about why she wanted to go back home tonight. “I’ll drive slow. If you hurry, you might even pass me before I turn off for the headquarters.”
As she walked away, Wilkes had the feeling he’d screwed up what had started between them. Surprisingly, his loss of something he’d never had, hurt.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angie
AS WILKES DROVE AWAY, Angie climbed the stairs thinking again how this town was different than anywhere she’d ever lived. Everyone’s lives seemed connected here. Maybe she’d talk to Wilkes about it over dinner tomorrow night. It would be fun to just talk without any problems or emergencies in the way.
Smiling, she thought about how dearly she’d enjoyed studying him from across the table. He was one good-looking man, but something haunted his eyes and now and then she swore she could see his scars. When he’d kissed Lexie, Angie couldn’t help thinking that they fit together perfectly. Strong, wild, rich men like Wilkes didn’t pick workhorses like her. They picked the racehorses like Lexie.
She could hear Nigel Walls polishing the floors down one of the long hallways and guessed he hadn’t heard her yell hello, but if he started to lock up, he’d see her light on upstairs and check.
When she reached her office, the tiny desk light left burning lit her way. She’d left the old walk-in safe open, since she’d taken the only two things inside. Carefully she set the bloodstone and the old book on the shelf where she’d found them and turned to leave.
The outline of a man sitting in the chair at her desk made her jump.
Her first thought was to run, but the intruder was between her and the door. If they scuffled, Nigel might hear. If he’d turned off the machine. If he didn’t have his headphones on.
Angie fought to keep calm as the man slowly stood. His face was in shadow, but she could make out the broad shoulders and the dark tie against his white shirt. Not exactly the attire of a murderer, or a thief. Only, what would he steal. The old book? The bloodstone? One of the wagons or sewing machines or plows?
Of course, if he were a murderer, his choices were somewhat limited. Nigel or her. Since he hadn’t already killed Nigel while she was at dinner, Angie’s best guess was her.
“What do you want?” She tried to guess his height and weight just in case she lived and had to identify him later.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Harold,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m just here to talk.” From the sound of his voice he was probably in his forties or fifties, and the slight accent placed him from the Northeast, not the South or Texas.
“That’s probably what all killers say.” She backed up a step.
He laughed. “You run into a lot of criminals, do you, Miss Harold?”
She reached back into the safe and lifted the bloodstone. It fit in the palm of her hand. Not much of a weapon, but it was all she had. If he grabbed her, she’d hit him as hard as she could between the eyes.
“You mind if we turn on a light?” he asked and leaned over the desk clicking on the desk light.
The warm glow lit up his face. Short hair. Clean shaven. She didn’t recognize him. No gun, at least none showing. About forty. Angie didn’t relax. He didn’t need a gun to kill her. He could choke her, or snap her neck, or... Stop! She wanted to scream, fearing she might start rattling off options for her own murder.
“If you would stop trying to figure out how I’m going to kill you, I thought you might sit down and listen.”
“You read my mind?�
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“It wasn’t all that hard.” He smiled and surprisingly looked like a normal person. He pointed at the chair across the desk. “Take a seat, Miss Harold.”
She sat down with a plop and looked up at him as he reached inside his coat. Angie hid her face. A gun. He was going to shoot her. She couldn’t stand the thought of dripping blood all over her own office.
“Look at me, Miss Harold. I’d like to show you my badge before you talk yourself into dying of fright.”
She picked up the badge. Agent Dodson, FBI. Maybe it was real, she thought. Maybe not. If he was a fed, why didn’t he just call and ask her for a meeting? Why hide out in her office?
“I’m here to ask you a few questions, not kill you.” He sounded weary, as if he doubted he was getting through to her. “You might be in danger, Miss Harold.”
Great! The killer was telling her what she already knew.
He stared at her. “You don’t believe me.”
She shook her head and then decided arguing with a murderer was probably a bad idea. “I believe you, Agent Dodson. I just wonder why you were sitting in the dark waiting to warn me about something I already know.”
The guy in the suit smiled. “No, you don’t believe me. Let me fill you in on a few facts you don’t know. We’ve been investigating your father and his brother’s business for months. We even have an agent working there keeping an eye on things. Three months ago your father came to us for help. He’d connected the money trail to drugs, but he had no hard proof.”
“My dad was a spy?” Now the fake agent had gone from being frightening to crazy. Her father had never done anything brave in his life. He wouldn’t even ride a roller coaster. He’d wanted to quit his job almost since he moved the family to Florida, but he was afraid to face his quick-tempered brother. The security of a job he hated was better than no job at all, and if he made his brother mad, he’d have no family at all, either.
The agent leaned forward. “Your father gave us all the information he knew, but he couldn’t tell us how the drugs were coming in or where they were being stored. Evidently your uncle Anthony didn’t want him in on the real business, but your father was smart enough to see that the items sold in the shop didn’t match with the money being deposited.”
“How does any of this affect me? Did my uncle kill my father?” The idea had been in the back of her mind since the beginning, but it didn’t seem possible. “Tell me the truth, whoever you are, or go away and stop frightening me.”
Even a mouse can get fed up with being scared.
“No,” the man answered too quickly to be telling a lie. “It appears your father’s death may have been just what it seemed, a mugging gone wrong. Whoever did it must have disappeared when he heard he’d be charged with murder and not robbery if he was caught.”
Agent Dodson stood and walked to the window. He didn’t look so threatening now. “The link between the drugs and your father’s death is that he feared his brother might have found out he’d talked to us. He went up to his office in a dangerous part of town that night, worked later than usual because he wanted to find all the evidence he could. Time was running out for him. He thought his brother was watching his every move.”
“I’ll ask again. Why are you here? I don’t know anything about the business. I was away at college, then home taking care of my mother. I didn’t work for my uncle and my father didn’t talk about his work except to complain about it or that he never seemed to get finished with the books.”
“We wouldn’t have bothered to find you, but our informant says your uncle has sent a man after you. He said the word is you took something very valuable, and your uncle wants it back.”
The agent smiled. “I’m hanging out in the dark, miss, because we’re not ready to tip our hand. We want to catch this guy, not frighten him off. So think about it. What do you have that someone would track you down to get?”
The ledger book. Of course. It might contain proof of her uncle’s crimes. But if she told this suit and he wasn’t one of the good guys, she was back to trying to guess how he’d kill her.
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“I rented a Ford when I landed in Amarillo yesterday. I parked it by the loading dock out back of the museum.”
“Have you tried to contact me before?”
“No.” Dodson pointed his finger. “But you are a hard lady to catch alone. Seems like people have been around you all day. I always thought a curator would be a solitary job. But not for you, Miss Harold. Perhaps I should warn you that the fewer people who know about this investigation, the better. The FBI needs to remain invisible until we know what is going on.”
She moved toward her phone. “You wouldn’t mind if I call the sheriff, would you? I want to make sure you check out before I talk to you any more. I’d feel better if the sheriff is with us. He’s someone I do trust.”
Agent Dodson smiled at her. “Go ahead. He can check me out, then maybe, Miss Harold, we can work together. All I ask is you don’t say anything to anyone else. In fact, your cabin might be a good place to meet him. If whoever is looking for you sees me, we may force him into doing something rash.”
Her hands shook. “How did you know about my cabin?”
“I’m from the FBI. It took about ten minutes. Only two places were rented in the area in October. Electric transferred over to an Angela Jones. Address was on the bill. Let me give you a hint—when you’re on the run, change more than your last name.”
Angie used her office phone to call Dan. The FBI guy turned to stare out at the canyon as if he were offering her some privacy.
“Hello, Sheriff Brigman.” She tried to sound calm as she pulled her cell from her pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Dan said, obviously reading the panic in her voice.
“Is there any way you could meet me? Right now? I need your help with something. You don’t have to change. Keep your uniform on.”
Angie prayed he’d figure out that meant “bring a gun.”
“I’d love to get out of here. Lauren and her roommate are here and I seem to have adopted Tim O’Grady for the weekend.” He lowered is voice. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” she answered a bit too slow. “I just need your help.”
“I’ll be outside my house waiting,” Dan said.
“No. Meet us at my cabin.”
Dan hung up and she knew he was already heading that way. He’d be waiting when she reached her cabin.
Angie kept talking into the dead phone about Dan’s daughter and her friends being home from college as she texted Wilkes on her cell. I’m fine. Don’t worry. See you soon.
She lowered her cell under the desk and pressed Send as she said into the office phone, “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Goodbye, Sheriff.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wilkes
DOC HOLLIDAY WAS curled up on the leather jacket he’d left on one of the kitchen chairs when Wilkes got home. The fat old cat didn’t seem the least bit interested in moving. After yelling at Doc and issuing a few threats that went unheard, Wilkes picked up the cat and walked him out to the barn. It was time Doc Holliday met a few of the outlaws living in the hayloft.
“I hate cats,” he muttered as Doc took off like a prisoner just released. “But you, Doc, are starting to grow on me.”
The only good thing about Angie going home tonight was that she would take the not-so-invisible cat with her. The first night, Doc had jumped on Wilkes’s bed, waking him. When Wilkes tried to ignore the cat, Doc decided to share the pillow. Wilkes couldn’t tell if the cat was snoring or purring.
When Wilkes walked back into the kitchen, Uncle Vern and Carter Mayes were waiting for the chocolate cake that Angie had made. She’d left it on the bar, covered with a glass dome. Which, around the Wagner home, meant ha
nds off until after supper.
“That girl can cook,” Vern said, staring at the cake. “She ain’t made a bad meal yet.” He glanced at Wilkes. “And believe me, I’ve had enough to know what bad is.”
Carter brushed down his whiskers and lifted his fork when Wilkes reached for the plates. “My daughters can cook, but with all the granddaughters running around it’s like trying to eat in a tornado. Food’s usually flying. Two of them live under the table like wild squirrels foraging for food. The little one is always crying and the oldest one has a Cinderella complex. When daughters have daughters, it’s like the drama is multiplied.”
Wilkes cut them each a piece of cake. When he walked back over to his coat, he realized that while he’d been gone today, Doc Holliday had walked on all the furniture and clawed anything he could reach. He decided cats were smarter than humans. They always knew when someone didn’t like them. Doc was probably just trying to make it plain that he didn’t like sleeping over at the ranch.
When Wilkes’s cell fell out of his pocket, he noticed he had a message from Angie. She should have been pulled up in front of his place long before now, not sending him messages. He’d been so busy with the cat he wasn’t even sure how long ago she’d texted him. Ten minutes? Fifteen?
I’m fine was all he had to read to know Angie was in trouble.
As Wilkes grabbed his hat, Uncle Vern yelled from the kitchen. “Where’s the coffee?”
“Fend for yourselves, boys,” Wilkes answered. “If Angie shows up here, call me. I think she might need me.”
Both men laughed. Vern mumbled, “I think it’s more like you need her, son, but you’ll figure that out soon enough.”
He hit ninety on the way to the museum. When he got there, she was gone. The place was closed up for the night. Nigel was loading up equipment at the side door.
Wilkes yelled, “Did you see Angie leave?”
“I did.” He took the time to scratch his beard before adding, “She headed out about ten minutes ago with a guy in a suit. He parked in the loading dock like he thought he owned the place. You might have some competition, Wilkes. Wouldn’t hurt to buy a new hat.”
