Midnight Cowboy

by Adrianne Lee

  Andy stopped and drew a deep breath, shaking off the last vestiges of shock. This wasn’t some Club Med vacation. Her life was on the line—physically and emotionally. She needed to deal with it. Tim deserved the truth. All of it.

  In case she didn’t survive.

  Half an hour later Andy said goodbye and replaced the receiver. She swiped at the tear spilling down her cheek. It had been the most difficult conversation she’d had with anyone in a long while, and Tim had exhibited more emotion than he’d done the whole ten years she’d known him. Surprisingly more. He’d wanted to send in the marines to rescue Jack and her, but she’d finally made him see that that would give them only a momentary reprieve, when what was needed was a permanent solution.

  In the kitchen Andy startled Minna. She jumped, then, looking flustered, her face quickly growing red, started toward Andy. “Well, now, I reckon I got some paperwork needs seein’ to.”

  As Minna hustled past her into the hallway that led to the office, Andy wondered if she’d been eavesdropping on Jack and whomever he was talking to in the living room. Her stomach knotted. She couldn’t blame Minna for being curious. Even if her curiosity was of the ghoulish sort. After all, someone she’d known for years had been killed.

  Andy strode into the living room. Jack was talking to a man in uniform, whose back was to her. The man continued talking until Jack glanced her way. Then he shifted around. If Jack was a grizzly, this man was a leopard, sleek and lean, his tawny hair clipped close to his head over small, flat ears.

  His uniform consisted of a dark brown shirt with light brown tabs at the shoulders, light brown slacks with dark brown stripes down the legs, a dark brown, billed cap and black, police-issue boots. A deadlylooking gun rode his hip, and his shirt sported a sevenpoint star bearing the Montana state seal and the insignia patch of the Madison County Sheriff’s Department.

  She guessed his age around forty-five. His face was as tight as a leopard’s, with a similar keenness in his hazel eyes that told Andy this was not a man to underestimate.

  She felt Jack’s solicitous gaze on her, but he needn’t worry. As long as she had a breath in her body, she would remember who Nightmare Man was. She’d decided to consider it just another deadline she had to meet. And she’d never missed a deadline yet. Have I, Gram?

  Jack searched her face. She looked different. Somehow calmer. More determined. Jack didn’t know what she and her fiance had discussed for the past half hour, but apparently it had wrought some kind of change in her. Tim Freyton wasn’t just a lucky guy, he must also be a hell of a good one. Jack’s heart felt like an anvil inside his chest. “Andrea Hart, Sheriff Birdsill.”

  Andy squared her shoulders and strode across the room, her hand outstretched. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Sheriff, although I could have wished for happier circumstances.”

  The sheriff nodded, then gestured toward the sofa. “I’ll need a statement, Ms. Hart.”

  Holding her ground, she glanced questioningly at Jack. How much had he told the sheriff? Jack shook his head. Her hands dampened. She’d just told Tim everything, and now it looked as if she’d be telling it again. But not here. Not within Minna’s earshot. They couldn’t risk the whole town knowing. “Sheriff Birdsill, Mr. Black and I have a rather interesting story concerning the murder of Mr. Cooper, but I’d rather tell you somewhere less…public…say, my cabin.”

  The sheriff agreed and minutes later they were seated at the dinette table in her cabin.

  “What makes you so sure it was murder?” Sheriff Birdsill flicked the brim of his cap, knocking it higher on his forehead, then flipped open the cover of his notepad. “Could have been a ricochet.”

  “Impossible.” Jack shook his head adamantly. “The players use blanks.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Sometimes live ammo slips through. I can’t stress the importance of checking every single round before it’s loaded. But human nature being what it is…Well, ole Virgil Cooper might just have been a victim of somebody’s carelessness.”

  “It’s more likely his death was deliberate,” Andy said. They told him the whole story, up to and including Jack’s real name.

  “It’s an interesting theory, Ms. Hart, er, Woodworth, but the truth is, at this point you don’t have any real proof that someone is after you. I would, however, caution you to keep an eye open. I remember your parents’ case. I’d only been with the department six months and we don’t get many double homicides. I’d love to close it off the books, but unless you can give me a name to start with, there isn’t much I can do.”

  He closed his notepad and stood.

  Jack rose also. “Surely you’re not writing this off as an accident?”

  “I never jump to conclusions.” Birdsill tugged his hat back down his forehead. “Right now I’m just compiling information, and you’ve given me plenty to chew on.”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of gun was used?” Jack pressed, the reporter in him surfacing.

  “You know I’m not at liberty to answer such a question, Mr. Starett.” The sheriff strode to the door, then looked back over his shoulder. “But judging by the exit wound, I have a pretty good idea.”

  Andy shoved up and out of her chair. She felt a twinge of hope rising in her. “How long before you know for certain?”

  “Can’t say. First we have to retrieve the bullet, then run it through a battery of tests. But eventually, we’ll discover whose gun it was fired from.” He opened the door. “Meanwhile, I have to ask you two not to leave the county without telling me. So, be extra cautious.”

  NIGHTMARE MAN GROWLED aloud. Two hours since he’d swallowed three super-strength Tylenol and still the ache at his temples throbbed unrelentingly. Stress. Even the muscles in his neck felt twisted like barbed wire.

  Damn that Lee Lee Woodworth! Coop was dead because of her. If she’d died like she was supposed to twenty years ago, it wouldn’t have been necessary to try such a bold move today. Cruel, cruel fate! If the glass hadn’t deflected the bullet…If she hadn’t re acted so quickly…

  But Lee Lee had proven years ago that she had more lives than a cat.

  He pulled the photo album from its secret hiding place behind the bookcase and carried it to the kitchen table. As before, stale paper smell rose from the album the second he flipped it open. Gingerly, he turned the yellow pages, stopping at last at an aged photograph of himself standing before the old assay office that was now the Golden Broom Hotel. The face was thinner, younger, but recognizable as his own. Coop had taken this picture.

  And Arlo’s.

  He supposed it was just as well that Coop was dead. He might have told her of this photograph.

  Nightmare Man drew the photograph he’d stolen from Andy’s cabin out of his jacket pocket and laid it next to his picture.

  Arlo had looked this same way the night of his death. Shaking his head, Nightmare Man taped the edges of the photograph to the yellowed page. He hadn’t wanted to kill Arlo, but when he’d come home unexpectedly and seen poor Marcy…If only Arlo hadn’t started yelling, if only I hadn’t lost my temper. But he had lost his temper, the rage a crimson sheet descending over his eyes, blinding him to everything.

  And afterward, the child had seen. Seen him. Could tell someone.

  He glanced down at the newly acquired photograph. Too bad he didn’t have a photograph of Coop. It seemed only fitting that he should be remembered like the others. He turned another page, his fingertips slipping gently over each face that stared up at him from the album. Arlo, Jack Starett, Sr., and his own beloved Marcy.

  No, he hadn’t wanted to kill Coop, either. But selfpreservation drove him and he’d risked exposure today in order to protect himself. Sheriff Birdsill was no fool. He’d soon declare Coop’s death a murder. There’d be no question of that when he realized the bullet was gone. Taken. Dug out of the wall behind Coop’s counter.

  The bullet felt smooth and cool between his forefinger and thumb. Without it, the police could never trace a path to h
is gun, and since he hadn’t wanted to kill Coop, there was no evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, pointing to him. In all likelihood, no one would ever be charged with the crime.

  A smile teetered at the corners of his mouth and the ache in his temples seemed to snap away as he taped the bullet to an empty section of the page where Virgil Cooper’s picture should have been.

  Returning the album to its hiding place, he settled in his chair and put his mind to the matter of Lee Lee Woodworth, alias Andrea Hart. Just thinking about her brought a red haze hovering at the edges of his vision. Before now, that was all he had feared. The crimson haze. His anger.

  But she had him plotting. Plotting her murder. He shuddered, feeling dirtied by these thoughts. He hadn’t meant to kill the others. Didn’t remember the actual acts of murder. But he couldn’t say that anymore. Not after today. Not after Coop.

  He could still feel the smooth trigger under his finger, smell the cordite burning his nostrils, hear the explosion of the fired gun. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Coop he’d been after. He’d killed him just the same. A nerve jumped in his jaw.

  What worried him was the fact that he hadn’t been angry when he’d pulled the trigger. Just scared. Of discovery. If Lee Lee remembered…his life would be over. He drew himself straighter in the chair, clamping his teeth in determination. She would be dead before it came to that.

  Chapter Nine

  “Damn! Why can’t I remember who Nightmare Man is?” Andy slammed her fist on the table.

  Her outburst jarred Jack’s ragged nerves. The sheriff had departed three hours earlier, after which they’d sat at her table drinking coffee and discussing every aspect and angle they recalled preceding the shooting—hoping against hope someone or something they’d seen would help them figure out who’d killed Coop. They’d wiped out one and a half pots of Seattle’s Best Coffee, but had come up with zilch.

  Jack could see that Andy was on the verge of collapse. She needed time out from the gut-knotting tension of their situation; she needed a good night’s rest, one free from the fear of being killed in her sleep.

  He shoved back his chair and stood. “You’ve been through enough in the past twenty-four hours to do in two people. Grab some things for overnight. We’re going to Butte.”

  “But the sheriff said—”

  “I’ll let Birdsill know.”

  Could they really just run away for the night? What do you think, Gram, can we? A little voice in her head, sounding familiarly like Gram’s, answered, Of course you can. Nightmare Man isn’t likely to push his luck and try something this soon after Virgil Cooper’s death. Not with the sheriff and his deputies in town. Andy smiled. The prospect of spending a stress-free night somewhere—with Jack—lightened her spirits, eased the strain in her shoulders and the kinks in her stomach.

  “All right. Let’s do it.” While she packed her suitcase with the bare essentials, Jack hurried out to use Minna’s phone. By the time he’d returned, Andy was ready.

  They stopped at his cabin for his clothes, then ran through the rain to the parking lot and into her Cherokee. Jack drove, repeatedly checking the rearview mirror for headlights.

  “Are we being followed?” Andy’s voice had an uneasy lilt.

  Again Jack checked the mirror. It remained dark. Which meant nothing. But there was no need worrying Andy any further. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  Every nerve in his body felt frazzled.

  Half an hour down the road a sudden flicker of light reflected in the rearview mirror. Headlights. Way back. Slowly the beams of light grew larger as the vehicle behind gained on them. It was two car lengths back when Jack swung left onto the freeway ramp.

  Seconds later its lights reappeared in the mirror as it sped up the ramp behind the Cherokee.

  Once on Interstate 90, Jack was assailed with myriad vehicles’ headlights glaring at him from the mirror. There was no way of knowing if they were being followed now. He tossed a quick look at Andy. Her hands were clenched in her lap and her eyes were fixed on a spot straight ahead. He checked the mirror again. Was he being paranoid? Or was Nightmare Man in one of the cars behind them?

  The possibility chilled Jack, and he took a deliberately roundabout way through downtown Butte until he felt certain it was safe to proceed to the hotel he’d decided on, a security-conscious establishment.

  Glad to be out of the confines of the Cherokee, Andy rushed to help Jack with the luggage. Their hands bumped as she reached for her overnighter. Jack flinched as if she’d burned him. For half a second his gaze met hers, then a flustered expression sprang into his silvery green eyes and he yanked their bags from the trunk and stepped away. “Lock the hatch.”

  As Andy followed Jack into the hotel lobby her energy seemed to drain like water from an emptying sink. She was aware of a bone tiredness so deep she barely retained the physical strength to hold herself upright.

  He asked the registrar for adjoining rooms.

  The thought of being alone all night in a hotel room terrified Andy. She tugged on his coat sleeve.

  “Jack, I don’t think I can stand sleeping alone tonight,” she whispered. “Please, make it a double room?”

  Jack’s heart leapt into his throat, and he had a hell of a time swallowing over it. He knew her invitation wasn’t for sex, but, curse all, didn’t she realize sharing a bedroom with her drove him crazy? Somehow he kept his voice level. “We’ve changed our minds. We’d like a double room.”

  He had no chance of enlightening Andy on the subject of her effect on him. She fell asleep seconds after climbing into bed, leaving Jack stretched out on his own bed, staring at the ceiling, fighting the ache to climb in beside her, to hold her as he had the night before, to press her ripe curves against him—and so much more.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he jammed his pillow with his fist. Andy was not only vulnerable, but engaged to another man; he had to quit coveting her. He ground his teeth in frustration, taking back every kind thing he’d thought about Tim Freyton, wanting to wring his neck for not rushing here to protect her. What kind of a jerk was he, anyway?

  Clinging to his anger, Jack concentrated on staying alert to sounds of danger. Instead, he became entangled in the whisper of Andy’s breathing, in the enticing fragrance of her delicate perfume.

  In the end, exhaustion won out over his warring emotions and pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep. In the morning, he had to admit, he felt revitalized, better than he had in days.

  But their reprieve was over.

  He called Wally and brought him up to speed. Then once again they were in the Cherokee, speeding along Interstate 90. A tangible tension clutched Jack as Butte grew more distant in the rearview mirror. He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. Today might just be the day Andy remembered.

  She broke the silence. “What did Wally say when you told him about Coop?”

  Jack glanced over at her. She wore red Tony Lamas, faded jeans and a lightweight, blue denim shirt. Her hair was tied at the nape with a red ribbon. Gone were the violet smudges, like delicate bruises, under her intriguingly beautiful eyes, and the tightness on either side of her sweetly kissable mouth. She looked rested…and good enough to eat. God, why did he punish himself like this? “Wally thinks we should pack it in. Not go back to Alder Gulch.”

  Jack kept to himself Wally’s thoughts on “no story being worth their dying for.”

  Andy sighed. “I take it you explained why we have to go back?”

  “Yes.” But he respected Wally’s judgment, his experience with Nightmare Man. Jack glanced at her again. “I promised him if you couldn’t remember within the next couple of days, we’d leave.”

  Jack braced for an argument, and was surprised when none came.

  Instead, she smacked her palms against her thighs. “Why can’t I remember?”

  Jack bit down his own frustration. As much as he wanted her to remember, he knew wanting it wouldn’t make it so. “Suppressed memory is one of tho
se things that returns when it returns. You can’t push the river.”

  “No, but there must be some way I can prod it a little.” She bumped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. They were off the interstate and traveling the road for Alder Gulch when she opened them. “I have an idea. Let’s visit the spot where my house used to be, where I lived as a little girl. Maybe that will nudge something loose.”

  “Okay.” Jack had heard of cases where seeing something familiar could trigger a memory. He gave the sky a cursory glance. It was cloudless; even the road was dusty dry, as if yesterday’s rainstorm had been a dream. “I like the idea. The players have canceled all shows for two days while the police are investigating Cooper’s death. We can get an early start and spend the day if you want.”

  “Good.” The plan of action rallied her spirits, but the day ahead still daunted. Striving for something to take her mind off it, she changed the subject. “Why didn’t we go to your family ranch last night?”

  The ranch? Jack glanced at her again, imagining his mother and sister fussing over Andy, wrapping her in the Starett family’s cocoon of love. It made a heartwarming picture. A rock hit the windshield. Startling and sobering him. “My family won’t be putting out the welcome mat for me any time soon, I’m afraid. At the moment I’m persona non grata.”

  “Oh?”

  “Before I left, Mom and Jonna and Max read me the riot act for even considering trying to flush out Nightmare Man. They had reason to hope I was finally getting over my obsession.”

  He gave a self-deprecating laugh, deliberately making light of a moment that would go down as one of the worst in his life. His chest squeezed as he remembered his family standing united in disapproval. In disappointment. In fear.

  The look of pity on Andy’s face stirred him on. “Don’t worry, they’ll forgive me…eventually.”

  If I don’t end up getting myself killed.

  “I envy you your family.” She leaned back against the headrest again and stared out at the vast landscape. With every passing mile Alder Gulch loomed closer. Fear teased her, but Andy realized she felt less afraid with Jack near.