With a last glance at the cowboys scattered around waiting for news on Quinn, hoping against hope, Cade motioned to the lawmen to follow him out into the hall. He kept a protective arm around Malone, drawing her with him when she might have lingered in the waiting area.
The detective was first to speak but he, at least, kept his voice low. “You want to explain why a federal marshal is here?”
Taking a chance – one he considered a fairly safe bet – Cade said with equal quiet and much less belligerence, “Have you tried asking him?”
“Said he got a tip.” Hendrix’s irritation was blatant.
“I can speak for myself,” Ryder said with a grunt. “I get lots of tips. Some pan out, some don’t. If I start giving away my sources, I won’t have to worry with wasting time on the ones that don’t. Then again, I won’t have the benefit of the ones that do either.”
“Did your source happen to link the cowboy in surgery with a broken back to the one in the morgue with a broken neck?” His tone was as blunt as his words. And as ugly.
Cade felt as much as heard Malone’s sudden intake of breath. He sent the detective a heated glare.
The detective glared right back. “What? You don’t even think this was suspicious, Delaney? I’m telling you now, you got anything says this wasn’t an accident, you’d better lay it out. I’ve already heard the whisperings in that room. His friends aren’t buying that it was an accident. Said Rivers was as good as they come and had his butt tight as a tick on that bull.” He nodded what passed for an apology at Malone. “Their words not mine.”
He waited a moment and when Cade didn’t answer, snapped his fingers as he threatened, “I’m that close to arresting your ass.”
“For what?”
“Obstruction of justice.”
Abruptly, Cade decided it might be time to take himself out of the middle. He trusted Ryder to find answers more than he did Hendrix but the association couldn’t afford the bad press of their operations director being arrested. It might only be for a short while so Hendrix could have his moment of revenge but it could have lasting impact on the association. As long as Ryder heard the information at the same time as Hendrix, the federal agent could get his hands on it through other means.
“Well,” Hendrix pressed, “do you have evidence of foul play?”
“I have a bull rope that appears to be tampered with but I’ve no idea whether or not it was Quinn’s.” That was a flat-out lie. He had a good idea that it was Quinn’s. Just no proof.
“And it was at the scene of the crime?” Hendrix almost pounced on Cade’s admission.
“I don’t know that there was a crime.” Cade gave that a moment to sink in then asked, “Do you?”
“If there was, I’ll find out. And I don’t need help from the feds or obstacles from you. Was it close to the fallen cowboy?” He didn’t even pretend patience with the question.
“Not when it was brought to my attention.” Cade wished he could enjoy baiting the pompous idiot but the reality of Quinn’s injuries was too close, too raw.
“Brought to your attention? By who?” He clearly didn’t enjoy pulling information from Cade.
“By Trouble.”
“Trouble?” the detective almost sneered. “Is that some cowboy nickname?”
“No nickname and no cowboy. Trouble is a cat, a black cat who travels with Ms. Summers here.”
Cade chanced a glance her way. She was looking at the local officer with her chin tilted and her brow lifted, daring him to say anything derogatory. Even so, Cade caught her sidelong look his way. She was no doubt thinking he was crazy and maybe he was. The expression on the detective’s face spoke volumes.
“Damn it, Delaney. I want to know who the hell brought you that rope.”
“I told you. The cat brought it to me.”
“You have a rope that wasn’t by the chute where Quinn Rivers was hurt. That may or may not be his. And it was brought to you by a cat.”
With feet planted, Hendrix had leaned closer toward him with each word, so much so Cade thought he might topple over.
“I don’t know where it was when Trouble found it.” Tired of the game, Cade kept his voice quiet but as taunting as Hendrix’s. “It may or may not have been by the chute. It may or may not be Quinn’s. But it was brought to me by the cat.”
Ryder actually chuckled and Cade didn’t trust himself to look at him and keep a straight face, but Hendrix shot the deputy marshal an evil look before turning his attention back to Cade. “Where is this rope now?”
“It’s in my truck. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. It looked like it had been buried in the dirt so I didn’t want to drag it in here.” He lifted a brow, questioning Hendrix’s next move.
“I’ll walk out with you and take a look at it, but Delaney, you’d better figure out what kind of outfit you’re running here – or I’ll figure it out for you.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Ryder inserted smoothly. “I may as well join y’all.”
Cade looked at Malone and she shook her head. “That girl in the waiting room … I think she’s Quinn’s fiancée. I’ll go sit with her awhile.”
He touched her cheek softly, mentally daring Hendrix to say an impatient word at the delay. “I won’t be long.”
Chapter Sixteen
Unfortunately, Cade was gone five minutes too long. When he returned, Malone looked at him numbly over the shoulder of the weeping young woman, hearing but not absorbing the curses of Quinn Rivers’ friends. The doctor had been brief, but compassionate, though his face had revealed what he thought of a sport that had taken a young man’s life.
Cade’s face was just as reflective. Malone knew the moment he realized the shift in the waiting room from fear and hope to grief and fury. The only thing she saw in the gaze that never left her face as he crossed to her side was sorrowful regret at the ending of a life.
She released Quinn’s fiancée to the arms of a trio of girlfriends who had entered on Cade’s heels. They had undisguised shock etched on their faces as they realized the worst for Quinn had transpired. Malone never believed that death was the worst that could happen to a person. There were things she would not want to survive.
Thoughts tumbled through her mind as Cade pulled her in close to his chest and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Let’s go home.”
For a moment, she let herself wonder what it would be like if she could do just that. Go with Cade to a home that they shared, the home she’d once dreamed about. She shook off the thought as they walked through the silent halls of the hospital. She had other dreams now. Bigger dreams, but not – perhaps – sweeter ones.
* * *
Townie bumps into me yet again with his restless pacing and I swat him with sheathed claws. He is a nuisance but I understand his agitation. There’s something about the atmosphere beyond this cozy abode that is unsettled. At this time of night, the area is normally filled with voices and laughter as contestants return to trailers and settle in. Now the doors of vehicles and living quarters slam shut and echo across the asphalt unaccompanied by human voice. A dog barks once and is quickly hushed. Townsend lifts his head and pricks his ears at the sound then subsides without his usual low response.
Death does that and Quinn’s demise has affected many. I’m as confident that Quinn has died as I am that he was murdered by his own kin. Hopefully the clue of the bull rope I was able to seize and deliver will help convict the killer. My next mission is to identify him to Mr. Silver Eyes. Though I am confident that will not be an easy task, a resourceful feline such as I will always find a way.
I watch as Joss lies down on the sleeper couch and Townsend seeks permission to join her with a steady stare. She pats the coverlet and he leaps up to settle beside her. I take a vigilant position beside the front door ready to attack and defend should the occasion arise. I do not anticipate that it will and certainly hope that it will not. I am a master sleuth, after all, not a warrior. With that said, I can, in any c
ase, hold my own in a kerfuffle and shan’t be caught unprepared in the event a bout of fisticuffs is brought to me.
Despite Joss’ reclining pose, I sense her tension. She looks my way from time to time and I try to look as nonchalant as I can but she is not reassured by the fact that I begin my nightly grooming. After all, even in the midst of crisis, it is important to maintain one’s appearance. Joss, however, is not fooled by my façade, proving herself, as the old adage goes, wise beyond her years.
At a rap on the door, her indrawn breath is sharp and deep. Her eyes widen as she stares at the knob. I know terror when I see it. Townsend growls deep in his throat but she places her hand on his head and he does not bark. Good canine.
“Malone?”
Tyge’s voice. Fear gone, Joss rolls her eyes. But she makes no move to open the door nor does she answer him when he calls out again.
His boot heels strike hard on the pavement as he stalks away. In the silence that follows, I ponder his persistence in wanting to speak with Ms. Rodeo. Have his enemies threatened to harm her? Does he fear they believe she has some knowledge of their wrong-doings through her association with him? And are his enemies and Quinn Rivers’ the same? If I were a betting feline, I would place money on a ‘yes’ there.
Little time passes before a key turns in the lock. As Ms. Rodeo steps in, I slip out. Time enough for a nap a bit later. For now, I am restless with the sense that events are escalating and that danger encircles ‘the Tyge’. Saving him from himself could be a by-product of my efforts. My focus is on protecting my charges from becoming collateral damage.
* * *
Malone stared down at the hand she had stretched in front of the manicurist, then closed her eyes. Although she had lost her enthusiasm for the bit of pampering, she and Joss made the trip to the salon. A little to her surprise, the tiny, rather plain entryway had opened into an upscale space filled with light and elegance. Joss was swept away by an enthusiastic woman with flaming red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Malone’s manicurist was male with a shaved head and kind, brown eyes.
“You seem tense,” he said as he studied her hands which she knew were pretty much a mess. Today’s manicure would quickly become a casualty of her way of life. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
That surprised a chuckle from her. “It’s ten in the morning.”
He smiled broadly. “A Bloody Mary, then? We’ll call it brunch.”
She hesitated, tempted more than she would have thought. Any alcohol in the drink would be long gone before her run tonight. But she had a full afternoon in front of her so she shook her head with a twinge of regret.
When asked to select a color for her nails, she leaned back in the comfortable chair and closed her eyes. “Surprise me.”
“Ah, I was right.” She heard a hint of an accent in his voice but didn’t try to place it. “You have a trusting soul and a brave one.”
Malone returned the smile she heard in his voice but didn’t open her eyes. She’d trusted too much for too many years. She suspected she didn’t have a lot of trust left in her. As for courage … she’d never stopped to consider or question whether or not she was brave. Maybe that teenage girl had been or maybe she’d just been headstrong and foolish. In the years since, Malone had simply put one foot in front of the other, digging in, building the life she wanted, creating the security she needed. The color of her nails wasn’t a matter of daring. How she appeared to others was of far less consequence than how she felt about herself.
She’d begun to get that feeling about Joss, as well. There were insecurities about the girl but they weren’t emotional ones. Joss had a strong sense of self.
Nevertheless, when her nails were dry and Joss walked out of the back of the salon, Malone knew her jaw dropped. The natural blonde hair that had slowly begun to emerge from cheap dark dye with each day’s shower now shimmered with highlights and there was no longer any evidence of the chopped look Joss had created with a pair of barn shears. Clearly the stylist who had taken her in hand was as much an artist as Malone’s manicurist had proven to be. The short locks were feathered enchantingly around her face. Joss wasn’t simply a pretty, young girl. She had beautiful features that would carry gracefully into maturity and beyond.
When Malone said as much, Joss grinned. “I sure don’t look like the old me.”
And Malone knew that was what mattered most to the girl. That she not be recognized. Still, Malone could see a hint of shyness in Joss’ smile as she added, “I think Luke will like it. Now let me see your nails.”
As Malone obliged, holding them up and wiggling them in the air, Joss crowed, “You let him do tiny stars! And a moon. And little crosses. Look at the detail!”
“Well, my eyes were closed and he didn’t ask so I didn’t have to answer.” Malone studied her nails, silently pleased. The man had proven himself an artist and she’d tipped that artistry generously as she would Joss’ stylist. Her nails were a shimmery cream and the stars and moon and crosses were all a pale gold. “It will be a real shame to scrub water buckets with these hands this afternoon.”
Moments later, they took to the sidewalk and strolled past several ethnic restaurants that would have seriously tempted Malone if they were having dinner. With all she had to do each afternoon, she was looking for lighter fare and allowed Joss to pull her into a little café where they ordered soup and salad.
Joss seized one of the rolls that were brought with their glasses of ice water and, after slathering it from a crockery bowl of whipped butter, ate it with the appetite of the young and always famished. The meal that followed was delicious and they chatted about the horses while they ate. Malone sometimes thought Joss had more questions than any teenager she’d ever been around.
When Joss’ plate and bowl were empty, she picked up the last bread roll and offered it to Malone. When Malone smiled and shook her head, Joss buttered it, her motions slowing. Malone noted a faint frown creasing her forehead. She didn’t say anything but wasn’t surprised when Joss lifted unexpectedly troubled eyes to her.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Malone waited silently.
“There’s something I need to do but I’m afraid.”
“Tell me.”
“First, you need to know a couple of things. When you asked if I’d broken any laws…?
Malone nodded, still silent but now concerned as well.
“I said I hadn’t and I don’t think I did. If you hurt someone in self-defense that’s not a crime, is it?”
“Probably not but it depends on the circumstances. Before we get into that, what is the second thing?”
“Someone could come looking for me.”
“I gathered that much on my own. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been trying to disguise your looks. Family?” She’d asked that question once, but Joss had said there were none.
“No.”
“The ‘someone’ you hurt in self-defense?”
“I don’t know.” Though she was staring down at the crusty roll she held, she didn’t seem to realize she was pulling it into tiny shreds.
Malone reached across the table to still her fingers. “Joss. Talk to me.”
Joss took a deep breath and dusted the crumbs from her hands. “My dad was a brush track trainer. There wasn’t a lot of money in that but we always had food on the table and laughter. There was always laughter. Daddy could have made more going out on the oil rigs but he always said he’d rather be home with us and eat beans than gone half the time just so we could eat steak. He taught me to ride and I was good. I made money after school every day exercising racehorses.”
Those memories lightened her face for a few minutes before she dropped her gaze. “Then mama got sick. Real sick, real fast. She died of cancer in the spring and a few months later Daddy was hit head on by a drunk driver in the wrong lane. Daddy was pulling a trailer with four good racehorses. They all died. So did my dad.”
Malone felt her heart break
for Joss. She was a young girl, dealing with the grief of losing both parents within months of each other. And, then, somehow, something even worse had happened to her. Someone had failed to keep her safe. “Keep going,” she said softly.
“I tried to get emancipation papers. One of the race horse owners who used my dad as trainer said he’d hire me on full time but the judge said I was a ward of the state and needed to be in school. I was put in a couple different foster homes. I was at the last one maybe a couple of months before I went to bed one night and woke up the next day lying wedged in some kind of semi-trailer with my duffle bag of clothes and four other girls.”
Joss paused to gulp air. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “I started screaming and the other girls begged me to be quiet so we wouldn’t all be killed. I could see daylight through the cracks in the plate metal above me, places it was worn through. It was inches above my face.”
There was no doubt the girl was describing a false bottomed floor. For a moment, Malone felt as if they were in the room alone. A kind of white noise filled her ears filtering out the conversation of other diners, of servers taking orders or refilling drinks. Reaching across the table, she took Joss’ hand, almost surprised when Joss gripped hers in turn. Joss had been cautious of being touched, never reaching out, never stepping into the occasional light hug that Malone had given.
“That’s why you won’t sleep in the bed space of the trailer.” Though the mattress was king size with plenty of room for two or even three, in a pinch, a person had to sit with care of their head touching the ceiling. Joss preferred the far less comfortable sleeper couch.
Joss shuddered. “I rolled off the nasty smelling blankets so I could breathe. And so there’d be more space between me and the floor above.” She spoke in a tone empty of anything she had been feeling then, might be feeling now. “The oldest girl – Carmen – said I’d been drugged. Like them. And I’d probably been given too much. She thought I was going to die before I woke up. All I knew was that I was sick as a dog.”
Turning for Trouble Page 15
