He kept coming, faster than before. Squeezing her eyes tight, Kirsten pulled the trigger. The weapon exploded in her hands, bucking backward with the recoil. When she opened her eyes, the killer was gone.
A siren wailed outside, grew louder, then stopped. She stood where she was, gripping the gun, watching the door, chanting a mental mantra. Control. Control. Control.
Adam came in first. He stood in the open double doors, looking as if he’d just stepped off the cover of some special Texas issue of GQ. While she stood in a white bikini and matching terry wrap and a whole lot of blood, with a murder weapon in one hand. She always did know how to accessorize, she thought a little crazily.
Adam just stood there, looking from Kirsten to Joseph’s body, to the gun in her hand. She read his face. She’d always been good at reading his face. His beautiful face. And that was when she realized what she’d done.
He held up a hand. “Put the gun down, Kirsten.”
She looked at it. Cold and black and evil, wobbling heavily in her bloody hand. She lowered the barrel slowly, then let the weapon fall to the floor. Adam came forward then. He gripped her shoulders, looking her over with an urgency she didn’t understand. Until she glanced down and saw all the blood. Smears and streaks of a dead man’s blood on her hands, her arms, her bare feet, her legs. It painted bright patterns on her Versace bikini and once-immaculate white wrap.
“Where are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” he kept asking.
“It’s not me,” she managed. “It’s Joseph’s blood. He’s dead.” Control. She had to get control. She was going to be a quivering mess soon if she didn’t get hold of herself.
Garrett was in the house. She saw him pass by the doors in his big hat, weapon drawn, apparently going from room to room. Searching for the killer, she guessed. He wouldn’t find him.
“I told you not to touch anything,” Adam was saying. Holding her arm, he drew her around the big desk she’d always hated, and the blood made her feet sticky against the floor tiles. Adam pressed her into a creaking chair that held the scent of Joseph’s illegal Cuban cigars. “Damn, Kirsten, why did you pick up the gun?”
Adam didn’t smell like cigars. He smelled like fresh Texas sunshine and new leather. The band of the Stetson he wore, maybe, or his belt, or maybe his boots. She liked a man who smelled like leather. Texas men, real ones, usually did. She lifted her head, met his eyes. Those eyes. She’d seen so much in them once. But that was over. More over than he could even guess. And there was nothing in his eyes for her now except speculation and questions.
“The killer came back,” she said, and she thought her voice sounded calm. In control. “He…came at me, and I just…reacted.”
Adam’s face remained expressionless. “Did you fire at him?”
She nodded. Adam swore.
Garrett came in then, pausing to shake his head at the sight of Joseph, then reaching to check for a pulse just as Kirsten had done.
“He’s dead,” she told him unnecessarily.
Garrett looked at her, worry in his eyes. “There’s no sign of anyone else in the house. Are you all right, Kirsten?”
She nodded. Then jerked a little as more sirens sounded outside. Cars skidded, and men came charging into the house. Several of them flooded the study, and Kirsten tugged her wrap more tightly around her and sat still, not cringing, not cowering, and forcibly not clinging to Adam Brand. She hadn’t expected Garrett to notify the Texas Rangers right away. She’d thought he would handle this himself.
“Kirsten Cowan?” one of them asked.
She nodded. Garrett stepped up. “I’m the sheriff here, Ranger. I wasn’t aware you’d been called.”
“Well, we were. So as long as we’re here—”
“It’s my town, Ranger.”
“It’s a capital crime, Sheriff.”
Garrett didn’t back down. “Looks like a suicide to me. But time will tell. Who called you?”
The ranger shrugged. “Call came from this number. Caller hung up without giving a name.”
Kirsten’s blood went cold. “I didn’t call you,” she muttered. “And no one else was here…except the killer.”
Garrett looked at her. The rangers looked at her. She would have clarified the statement, but she had a feeling her voice would come out weak and shaky if she tried.
Then Adam came to the rescue. “It was no suicide,” he said. “Kirsten saw the killer.”
One of the rangers came forward with a plastic bag and picked up the gun, dropping it in. Kirsten was all too aware that her fingerprints were all over it. Closing her eyes, she called the killer’s image to mind. Had he been wearing gloves? Black gloves that matched the rest of his clothes? She thought so.
“We’re going to want you to come back to the El Paso station with us, Mrs. Cowan. Answer some questions.”
“Garrett….” Adam began.
Garrett met his brother’s eyes and nodded. “Ranger, Ms. Cowan is in no state to be answering questions right now. What do you say we let her get changed, give her some time—”
The ranger eyed Kirsten. “No showers. And we’ll want the clothes you’re wearing.” He glanced at Garrett. “If you can assure me you’ll see to that, then I have no objections.”
Garrett nodded. “You could question her right here in town. My office is just—”
“I want her at the station.”
“Okay,” Garrett said. “Okay. I’ll bring her in myself.”
The ranger nodded, then sent a pointed glance at Adam. “Who’re you?”
Kirsten could almost hear the man’s assumptions. That Adam was the “other man.” That this was all the result of some sordid love triangle. It would have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so dire. She almost laughed, and brought her hands to her mouth to prevent it…then the would-be laugh became a gag when she glimpsed the drying blood that coated her hands as they hovered in midair near her face.
Her knees gave, just a little, before she snapped them rigid again. Adam’s arm went around her waist.
“Get her out of here, Adam. I’ll field the rangers’ questions,” Garrett said.
Adam nodded, kept his arm where it was and guided her out of the room.
His hand on her was gentle but firm. Supportive. As if he thought she might need his strength to keep her upright and mobile.
She didn’t.
She took a step away to let him know that, and instantly felt weakness set in. Her pace slowed. Her knees quivered. His hand returned, but to her arm this time. A less intimate embrace, but every bit as strong and supportive.
“Hold on,” he whispered.
He guided her to the stairs and up them. He didn’t let go again. She didn’t ask him to. She didn’t want him to. And she hated her own lack of strength and resolve.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
She licked paper-dry lips, but the effect was minimal. “This way.” Like a bullfrog’s croak, her voice. She turned down the hallway, but paused to look at the stains her feet were making in the carpet. Glancing backward down the stairs, she saw that she’d left a trail of them, each one a little darker, all the way to the bottom.
“It’ll clean,” Adam said.
“I don’t care. I really don’t. In fact, I hope it’s ruined. I hope they have to tear it up. Hell, I hope they burn this place to the ground.”
He looked at her, eyes soft and blue and puzzled. “That’s an odd thing to say.”
“Is it?”
He searched her face. “What the hell happened here this morning, Kirsten?”
She shrugged. “The king is dead,” she whispered, not even sure why. But slowly, slowly, a weight seemed to be lifting from her shoulders. The yoke of slavery. Of bondage. Of imprisonment. That was what her two years with Joseph Cowan had been. Was she free of him now? Was it even possible?
“Long live the fucking queen,” she muttered and turned toward her room. And she mashed her bloody footprints into the carpet as she walked.
&
nbsp; Look for Long Gone Lonesome Blues, coming soon!
The Texas Brands
The Littlest Cowboy
The Baddest Virgin in Texas
Badlands Bad Boy
Long Gone Lonesome Blues
Texas Guardian
Lone Star Lonely
The Outlaw Bride
Texas Angel
Texas Homecoming
The Oklahoma All-Girl Brands
The Brands Who Came for Christmas
Brand-New Heartache
Secrets and Lies
A Mommy For Christmas
One Magic Summer
Sweet Vidalia Brand
Also Available
Annie’s Hero
Witch Moon
Dr. Duffy’s Close Encounter
Miranda’s Viking
Forgotten
Musketeer By Moonlight
The Bride Wore A Forty-Four
Fairytale
Forever Enchanted
Once Upon A Time
Everything She Does is Magick
The Fairy’s Wish
The Bad Ass Brides Collection
The Witch Collection
Gingerbread Man
Eternity
Infinity
Destiny
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series
Zombies! A Love Story
And MAGGIE’S NON-FICTION
Shayne On You
Magick and the Law of Attraction: A User’s Guide
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 50 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005.
Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her soul-mate, Lance. They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places. Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction
Connect with Maggie
Maggie’s Website
Maggie’s Bliss Blog
Maggie’s Coffee House Blog
Twitter
Facebook
Long Gone Lonesome Blues Page 23
