Lady Killer

by Kathleen Creighton

  She was standing in the doorway to one of the horse stalls, one hand leaning on the half-open bottom section of the Dutch door, the other holding a propped-up pitchfork. Her face was pink and sweaty, and wisps of her hair clung to her forehead and cheeks like wet feathers. She ducked her head to wipe her face on the arm braced on the door, and when she looked back at him, her expression was…vulnerable, he thought, so vulnerable it made his heart sore. And at the same time, the lift to her chin seemed defiant-even angry.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said in a hard, clipped voice.

  “I don’t think I did,” Tony said carefully as he angled across the pasture to join her. “But, hey, look, I’m sorry if I was out of line.”

  She made an impatient gesture and looked down at her feet, clad in clumpy knee-high boots. “It’s not that.” She took a breath and shot him a fierce, bright look, one he’d seen on his own mother’s face and knew very well: Mama Bear protecting her cub. “He’s very vulnerable right now. He just lost his dad.” She paused, and to the fierceness was added an intriguing layer of something he could only think must be embarrassment. “He’s…For some reason, he’s developing an attachment to you. But you’re only here for a couple of days. What is he supposed to do when you’re gone?”

  To his astonishment and dismay, the words “I’m not going anywhere” popped into his head and almost-almost-came out of his mouth. Thank God he stopped himself in time. What was he thinking? She was right. He was only here for a couple more days. He’d probably already got enough cougar photos to fill an article for National Geographic, and enough video for a couple of Animal Planet shows as well. He couldn’t tell her his real reason for hanging around, of course.

  Which is to somehow get her cleared of murder charges and reunite her with her long-lost brothers, after which my job here will be done and I’ll be long gone.

  Right?

  “Gotcha,” he said, and then added, frowning earnestly, “I understand. I hear what you’re saying.” He said some other basically meaningless stuff-he wasn’t sure what-but he hoped he’d assured the mama bear that he wasn’t planning to inflict emotional harm on her cub.

  He was pretty sure he said “Good-bye” and “See you tomorrow” in there somewhere, too, and a short time later found himself sitting behind the wheel of his rental car. He sat there staring through the windshield and listening to his heart thump faster than it should while images flashed through his mind: A grubby little boy’s hand gently stroking soft, thick alpaca wool…bright little boy’s eyes gazing eagerly up at him. Sweat-damp feathers of blond hair sticking to a lovely woman’s forehead and cheekbones-bones that would still be lovely when they were ninety. Nothing new there-he had a photographer’s mind. What was making his pulse rate climb and his sweat grow clammy were the images that were drawn from pure fantasy: his hands stroking those feathers of hair back from that lovely woman’s face…his lips kissing her sweat-damp brow…and then her cheeks…her mouth…

  He huffed out an explosive breath, along with some blasphemy his mama definitely wouldn’t have approved of, started up the car and drove-too fast-down the lane and onto the FM road that would take him back to town and sanity. He hoped.

  It wasn’t until he’d calmed down some and his pulse had resumed a more normal rhythm that he thought to check his rearview mirror. That was when he saw the sheriff’s patrol car behind him.

  His heart gave a guilty kick, the way it probably did for most people when they looked up and saw a law-enforcement vehicle in their mirror. He swore out loud and tried to think whether he’d disobeyed any traffic laws while in his state of lapsed consciousness, all the while making sure to hold steady just under the speed limit. After a while, though, when the lights on top of the SUV didn’t start flashing, it occurred to him to wonder why a deputy sheriff would be following him at all, because in his-admittedly limited-law-enforcement experience, the sheriff’s department seldom bothered to police traffic-law violators.

  And this guy seemed to be sticking to him like glue.

  Well, that’s weird, he thought. He tried to see who was behind the wheel of the SUV, but the windshield showed him only a reflection of the sky, a dusky slate splashed with clouds and just beginning to reveal the amber and gold tints of impending sunset. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, his heart rate had kicked into high again.

  The SUV followed him when he made the turn onto the main highway. At the first stoplight heading into town, where the highway widened into four lanes, it pulled up beside him on the left, crowding him just a little more than it needed to. The window rolled slowly down, and a fleshy face wearing aviator sunglasses and topped with a brown Stetson swiveled toward him. For a long, long minute, those dark, blank shades stared at him. Just stared.

  Then…the light turned green, the window rode up and the SUV pulled away.

  After another sharp exhalation and some more blasphemy, Tony drove on, too.

  “I hate to admit it, but it spooked me,” he said to Holt a little while later, as they waited for their dinners-they were both having the barbecue tonight, which was on special and which Shirley had assured them was the best in town, if not in all of West Texas. “It sure as hell felt like a threat-or a warning, maybe. The only thing I can’t figure out is why.”

  “The fact that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with a woman suspected of killing one of their own might have something to do with it,” Holt said mildly.

  Tony frowned. “I wish I could have gotten a better look at the guy. I think it was the one I ran into at Brooke’s place yesterday-Lonnie Doyle-you know? The dead cop’s partner and supposed best friend. Hard to tell for sure, between the hat and the shades. He’d be my first choice for-”

  “Speak of the devil,” Holt said, without moving his lips.

  Three deputies, including Lonnie Doyle, had just come into the diner, not really swaggering, not exactly talking, but somehow taking up more than their fair allotment of oxygen and space, it seemed to Tony. He and Holt watched silently and without seeming to as the three took their usual corner booth, and even without looking directly, it was impossible to miss the glances the lawmen aimed their way.

  Shirley went over to the deputies, carrying three mugs and a pot of coffee, and Tony and Holt picked up their own coffee mugs and exchanged looks of silent warning. Tony felt a curious crawling sensation on the back of his neck and wondered if it was the same primitive reflex that made a wolf’s hackles rise.

  A moment later, Shirley came out of the kitchen, carrying two platters of barbecue, and at the same time, Lonnie Doyle slid out of the corner booth and began to stroll, unhurried, past the row of booths lining the outside wall of the diner, timing it so that he arrived at Tony and Holt’s booth about the same time their dinner did. He stood there, with one hand on the back of the booth near Tony’s shoulder and the other on his belt, heavy with the cops’ usual gear, including weapon, and his barrel chest puffed out. He’d positioned himself so he was blocking Shirley’s path, leaving her standing there with the two heavy platters in her hand, and looking uncertain and maybe a little scared.

  Tony didn’t often lose his temper, but he could feel it rising like the mercury on a blistering hot Arizona day.

  “Know what, Shirl? I think my friends here have decided they’d like those ribs to go,” Lonnie drawled, staring down at Tony, with his lips curled to one side in a bad imitation of an Elvis Presley sneer.

  Tony opened his mouth to give that the reply he thought it deserved, but before he could get a word out, Holt kicked him under the table and said to the waitress, quietly and with a reassuring smile, “Thanks, darlin’. And, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind throwing in a couple pieces of that apple pie?”

  Shirley turned without a word and went back to the kitchen.

  Lonnie slapped the back of the booth in a business-concluded kind of way. Then, as if it was only an afterthought, he turned back to say in a soft undertone only they
would hear, “You might want to watch who you get friendly with, you hear? In this town we don’t take kindly to folks who kill cops. And that goes for critters, too.” Then he tipped his hat in a parody of politeness and went sauntering back to his buddies, calling good-natured greetings and friendly insults to a couple of other diners on the way.

  Too mad to say a coherent word, Tony stared narrow-eyed, across the table at Holt, who locked his gaze with his in a silent warning as he picked up his coffee and drank. A moment later, Shirley came hurrying up, with two plastic bags containing to-go boxes and an assortment of napkins and plastic utensils.

  “Guys, I’m really sorry,” she muttered under her breath. “I don’t want any trouble with those guys, you know?”

  “Neither do we,” Holt said. “Don’t worry about it-not your fault.”

  As Tony reached for his wallet, Shirley made a quick, furtive gesture of refusal. “That’s okay. You can pay me tomorrow-next time you’re in. And,” she added as an angry flush rose to her cheeks, “the pie’s on the house.”

  Outside, in the cool September evening, Tony clamped his Diamondbacks’ cap on his head and let out a string of cusswords he didn’t use but once in a blue moon, concluding with, “What the hell was that?”

  “Looks like we’ve struck somebody’s nerve,” Holt said, sounding almost cheerful.

  “Yeah, well, it reminds me of one of those movies-you know, about the poor out-of-towner who wanders into some small town ruled by a corrupt all-powerful sheriff…”

  They’d come in Holt’s new rental car. While he unlocked it and put his dinner in the backseat, Tony went around to the passenger side and did the same. When they were both settled in the front seats, Holt sat for a moment without starting the engine. Then he looked over at Tony and said, “Might be time we make another try at getting in touch with Cory or Sam. Maybe they’ve got some connections with the feds…”

  Tony nodded grimly. “Sam does, for sure.”

  “I think,” said Holt as he turned the ignition key, “we’re going to need some outside help on this one.”

  It wasn’t often Tony was awakened by a ringing cell phone. It happened so seldom, in fact, that it took him awhile to figure out what it was. He opened his eyes and discovered it was still dark-relatively, which didn’t mean much in a motel room with the curtains drawn.

  In the twin bed next to his, Holt was stirring. “Is that yours or mine?” came the sleep-husky voice.

  Tony swore. “Mine, I think.” He groped for the offending instrument on the nightstand, at the same time trying to get a look at the alarm clock, which was turned just enough so he couldn’t see the lighted numbers. He found the phone, thumbed it on and croaked a raspy “H’lo?”

  “Tony?”

  He sat up, if not wide awake, at least adrenaline-charged. “Daniel?”

  “You said I could call you, right?” The voice was a whisper, but hoarse with urgency. “I mean…if I needed you, or something…”

  “Yeah, yeah…so what’s-is something wrong? What time is it, anyway?”

  “Not that early. Almost time for the school bus. But I’m not going. Tony, um…can you come over? Right now?”

  “Now?” He threw the covers back and got his feet on the floor. His heart rate had kicked into high gear, and there was a cold knot forming in his belly. “What’s goin’ on, son? Is your mom-”

  “No-she doesn’t know I’m calling. But I didn’t know what else to do. They’re taking Lady. I think they’re gonna kill her.”

  “What do you mean, kill her? They can’t, not without a court order. There hasn’t even been a hearing yet.” He glanced at Holt, who was up and heading for the bathroom.

  “Yeah, but Lonnie and a bunch of other deputies-some of ’em I don’t even know-they’re here right now, and they have a pickup with a big cage-it’s from animal control, or something-and they said they’re taking Lady and they’re holding her until the hearing. But I think they’re going to do something to her. I know they want to kill her because they think she killed my dad after…you know. My mom-”

  “Yeah. I know. Okay, listen. You sit tight, you hear me? I’ll be right there. You think you and your mom can hold ’em off until I get there?”

  He heard a sharp exhalation. Sheer relief. “Yeah. But hurry, okay?”

  The line went dead before Tony could reply.

  He was pulling on his pants when Holt came out of the bathroom. The guy was already fully dressed except for his shoes.

  “Sounds like Deputy Doyle is making a move,” Holt said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, took a holstered handgun out of his overnighter and calmly began checking it over.

  “Uh…yeah,” said Tony. “Do you think it’s a good idea to take on the entire sheriff’s department? I don’t see how we’re going to be able to do my buddy’s sister much good if we’re sitting in jail.”

  Holt glanced at him, eyes glittering in the dim light. “This is just in case. I believe in being prepared.”

  “Yeah, okay,” said Tony, “but here’s the thing. Way I see it, the only person who can stop those deputies is a higher authority. Since we don’t know how deep into the department this-whatever it is-goes, or how high, that means a judge. The only person a judge is going to listen to, especially this early in the morning, is a lawyer-Brooke’s lawyer, in particular. She told me his name is Henderson, and he’s in Austin. That’s all I know.”

  “Should be enough.” Holt rose, tucked the handgun back in its holster and buckled the holster around his waist so the gun nestled snugly in the small of his back. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he shrugged into his jacket. “Meanwhile, see what you can do to stall ’em. Be careful, though-I think those guys are dangerous.” He paused to shoot Tony a look. “Any idea what you’re going to do out there?”

  “Me?” Tony let out a breath and reached for his cap and car keys. “I’m gonna try not to think of Custer’s Last Stand.”

  “Wait-didn’t the Indians win that one?”

  “Yeah,” said Tony grimly, “but it was Custer who was outnumbered.”

  Chapter 6

  “What the hell’s the kid doing? How long does it take to find a damn rope?”

  “I told you to let me go,” Brooke said tightly. “He doesn’t know where it is.” She had her arms folded across herself to keep her inner shakes from leaking into her voice. Anger or fear? She couldn’t be sure. All she did know was that somehow Lonnie’s nervous fidgeting made him seem bigger than he was. And definitely more dangerous.

  Lonnie gave her a look, that arrogant sneer, which was one of the reasons she disliked him so much. In this case it said louder than words, “I don’t trust you out of my sight, lady, not after you killed my best buddy in cold blood.”

  She didn’t know whether he’d have actually voiced the sentiment out loud, because at that moment she saw Daniel emerge from the barn and start toward them, head down, dragging his feet. Her relief was short-lived when she saw what he had slung over one shoulder: not the rope Lonnie’d sent him for, but Lady’s old collar and the leash they’d used to take her out around the ranch before she’d gotten too big for both the leash and the house.

  “Oh, honey,” she said when he came shuffling up in the boneless way that meant he really didn’t want to be there at all. “That’s way too small for her now. You know that.”

  He shot her a look she couldn’t read, but before he could say a word, Lonnie snatched the leash and collar out of his hands and snarled, “What the hell’s the matter with you? I told you to bring a rope, not a damn dog leash.”

  Fear and adrenaline shot through Brooke’s body, and she braced herself to step between her child and whatever violence Lonnie might have in mind. But Daniel wasn’t about to be intimidated. Sadly, she knew that in his young life, her son had had to deal with a lot worse than a puffed-up bully like Lonnie Doyle.

  In spite of her fear, she couldn’t help but feel a glow of pride as she watched Daniel step up to the depu
ty without flinching, face flushed with anger. “What good’s a rope gonna do? Don’t you know anything? You can’t rope a cougar, she’s not a calf, you know.”

  Lonnie’s face darkened. “You back-talkin’ me, boy? You watch your mouth. You understand me?” He moved closer to Daniel, and with her heart pounding, now Brooke did step in front of her son.

  And the other deputy, Al Hernandez, was there, laying a restraining hand on Lonnie’s arm. “Hey, man, what’re you doing? The kid’s right. No way we’re getting a rope on that cat. What we need is a tranq gun.”

  Lonnie’s eyes shifted quickly from Daniel and Brooke to Al and back again in a way that reminded her of something, she couldn’t think what, not then.

  “I used to have one,” she said evenly, ignoring Lonnie. “Unfortunately, somebody took it.”

  Lonnie swore explosively. “Well, great-that’s just great.” He shook off Al’s hand and went stomping off to confer with the other two deputies, who were lounging against their patrol vehicle, arms and ankles crossed, dark shades on and hats tilted against the rising Texas sun. With a look of what almost seemed like apology, Al went to join them.

  As soon as the men were out of earshot, Brooke felt Daniel tugging at her shirtsleeve. She turned on him, saying in a furious whisper, “What were you thinking? Are you trying-”

  “Mom-Mom-no, wait.” He was making frantic shushing gestures, darting sideways looks toward the knot of deputies. “We have to stall for time. That’s what I was trying to do. We have to stall them, Mom.”

  “Daniel? What do you mean, stall? Why? What did you do?”