by B. J Daniels
“I saw her. How much more do you need to arrest her?” she demanded.
“You saw her standing out in your yard. You didn’t see her pry open your window, throw in a burning object, you didn’t catch her in the act.”
“I was asleep! That’s what normal people do this time of the night!”
“I know.” He stepped to her and drew her into his arms. She came reluctantly. She knew she shouldn’t be blaming him for this, but she couldn’t help it. He’d married the damned woman.
“What can we do?” Her voice broke. “What if she burns down the house with me in it next?”
He shook his head.
“I know you don’t believe she’d go that far, but unlike you, I do believe she will go as far as her demented mind tells her to. She can’t stand us being together.”
He let go of her to walk to the window again. He raked a hand through his thick dark hair. She could see from the slump of his shoulders that he was as frustrated as she was by all this.
“She wants attention, no doubt about that,” he said. “She’s probably sitting at home right now waiting for me to stop over and ask her if she was out tonight, if she—”
“I heard at the shop today that Wayne is out of town. I had this feeling that she would do something tonight.” Maggie was trembling again. She hugged herself wishing she was still in Flint’s arms.
“Once you move in with me—”
“You really think she will stop?”
He turned to meet her gaze. “What choice will she have? So why are you dragging your feet?”
* * *
MARIAH HEARD WHAT sounded like a gunshot just moments before Darby called up to her. But she didn’t catch what he said over the rain drumming on the roof overhead—and the pounding of her heart. “Darby?”
No answer. She rushed to the side window, thinking earlier that she’d heard what sounded like a vehicle. With a wave of relief, she saw the patrol SUV parked beside the building.
Was that why Darby had called? Had they gotten Rafael? She didn’t dare hope. She’d been on edge all night. Darby had tried to reassure her, but she still felt anxious.
Now she grabbed the shotgun by the door and looked downstairs. It was still dark down there. “Darby?” she called again.
A flashlight came on in the kitchen. In the ambient light, she saw a large figure standing with his back to her at the bottom of the stairs. He wore a sheriff’s department raincoat with the hood up, the back to her. What had Darby called the man? Harp?
The light went out. She could hear movement down there. She craned her ears. It almost sounded as if they were dragging something. Someone? Rafael? Had they caught him? Was it possible he’d come alone?
She started to put the shotgun back by the door before heading downstairs, but stopped. Darby had yelled her name and something else. “Don’t.” Don’t what? Don’t come down because they’d caught Rafael and he was wounded? Dead?
“Darby?”
“Down here!” The voice was muffled since it appeared to be coming from the bar area. She hesitated, then put down the shotgun, but returned to the bed where she reached under the mattress and pulled out the knife in its leather sheath. She tucked it into the top of her right boot. She felt a little foolish, but even if they had caught Rafael, she didn’t trust him. Better to be armed.
Still, as she started down the stairs, something stopped her. The deputy she’d seen earlier was no longer standing down there. No one was, which in itself felt wrong. Very wrong. The feeling was so strong, she couldn’t ignore it.
She retraced her steps as quietly as she could, feeling as if someone was standing just around the corner at the bottom of the stairs listening. Waiting.
The feeling became even stronger. When she reached the top of the stairs, she turned and saw something move fast in the darkness. “Darby?” she called, but she knew it wasn’t Darby. Oh God, where was he?
At the pounding of boots on the stairs, she frantically closed the door, locked it and looked around for something to push against the door. She spotted the chest of drawers and rushed to it, jumping when a body slammed into the door behind her. The door shuddered, but the lock held. For the moment.
She shoved the chest of drawers over against the door, knowing it wasn’t going to hold once the wood around the lock splintered. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything heavy enough to keep out whoever was on the other side of that door.
As if she didn’t know who it was.
But where was Darby? Her heart broke. For all she knew, he was already dead. And she was next, she thought as the door shuddered again.
Mariah reached for her cell phone but before she could key in 911, the door shuddered again—this time wood splintered. She picked up the shotgun and moved away from the door.
The door shattered around the lock and was flung open. The chest of drawers tipped over on its side and slid toward her a few feet before coming to a stop. She caught only a glimpse of Rafael’s face before she fired the shotgun.
He managed to get the apartment door closed so the buckshot lodged in the wooden door.
Rafael swore on the other side of the door. “Put the gun down, Mariah. You are only making things worse. If you ever want to see your friend alive again, you won’t do anything stupid, like call for help.”
She felt a hitch in her chest. “What did you do to him?” she asked through the door.
Silence and then, “Darby?” There was a mocking tone that did little to hide his contempt. “He’s still alive. But if you call 911 I’ll kill him before anyone can get here. Same with the shotgun. Put it down and come out. I’m going to count to three.”
Could she believe him that Darby was still alive? Probably not, but she held out hope that Rafael wasn’t lying. Why would he when he could kill Darby at any time?
The 911 call operator answered. Mariah started to speak but knew that Rafael would be able to hear her. She quickly turned off her phone.
“One. Two. Three,” Rafael said just on the other side of the door. “Angel? Are you down there with Darby?”
She heard a muffled answer.
“So should I tell him to kill your friend, Mariah? Or are you ready to talk?”
“Talk? You mean the way we did on our wedding night?” She could almost hear him grit his teeth.
“You are my wife. I can do whatever I want with you.”
Mariah shook her head. Anger bubbled up. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t his, would never be his, that she had given herself to another.
But if he hadn’t already killed Darby, she feared he would if he flew into a temper. So she held her tongue.
“I’m not going back with you,” she called through the door. The shotgun was getting heavy in her hands. Her arms had begun to ache. She rested the butt of it on her thigh for a moment.
“You’d rather stay here?” he asked through the partially open door.
“I’d rather be anywhere but with you.” She waited.
“I don’t believe you,” he finally said. “I think you’ve fallen for this cowboy.”
She held her breath for a moment. If she denied it—She heard what sounded like a commotion downstairs and lifted the shotgun.
“Your cowboy is waking up,” Rafael called from the other side of the door. “It’s time you came out of there. Without the shotgun or I’ll kill him myself.
“Entirely up to you, Mariah. You know I don’t care one way or the other. Actually, that’s not true. I want to cut him up in chunks and feed him to hogs because if I find out he’s touched you...”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MARIAH KNEW THAT if she put down the shotgun and let Rafael in, she was dead. But if she didn’t, he’d kill Darby. If Darby wasn’t already dead. She couldn’t assume that Rafael was tell
ing the truth and that the cowboy was still alive, especially given that she’d heard what sounded like a commotion in the bar.
Which meant she had to be ready to fight for her life. Again.
She had managed to best him on their wedding night, but it had been just the two of them. At least one of his cousins was downstairs right now. For all she knew there could be a half dozen of them.
But still, she had no choice. If there was any way to save Darby, she had to take it.
“Okay.” She started toward the door when the lights suddenly came on, flickered, almost went out again, and then remained lit. It caught her off guard for a moment. She blinked, unaccustomed to the brightness after getting used to the subtle differences in the darkness.
She looked at the splintered door. This shotgun was the only thing keeping Rafael out now. She felt more vulnerable than she had before as if there really was no place to hide now.
Hadn’t she known Rafael would show up tonight? Hadn’t she felt it? She and Darby thought they’d been ready for it. But Rafael had shown up in a sheriff’s department patrol SUV wearing the deputy’s raincoat. She thought of Harp. Dead somewhere? Probably. Just like she and Darby were going to be if she didn’t do something.
Mariah moved to the door. She didn’t put down the shotgun. Not yet. She stepped around the fallen chest of drawers, leaned the shotgun against the wall by the door and reached for the doorknob.
She hadn’t seen Rafael in the weeks since the wedding night. All the time she’d been on the run, she’d been watching for him, expecting to see his face suddenly appear in a crowd or next to her at a gas station. How many times had she awakened in the middle of the night terrified he was standing next to her bed?
Now, as the door swung open, she saw him standing on the top step, a shotgun in his hands. She looked into the black hole of the barrel, then at him. He moved it to the side, holding it across his chest.
“Well, if it isn’t my loving wife,” he said, his lips twisting into a sneer.
A shiver scaled the length of her spine as she stared at him and was struck by how different he was from the mental picture in her head. The man was handsome as the Devil. That wasn’t the only thing he and the Devil had in common. In her mind, he’d become so ugly that she’d actually forgotten what he looked like.
But the eyes couldn’t hide the real him. Cold as a grave and as hard as the stone towering over it. Hate hunkered in those dark depths and a meanness that boiled just under the surface.
He cut her a smile, one full of promise and pain as he leaned back against the wall, looking smug.
Mariah saw that he thought he’d won. He had her where he wanted her. He believed she would do anything to save Darby—including offering herself up to his punishment.
Surely he didn’t think she’d changed that much. That she would give in so easily. And yet from the smirk on his face, that seemed to be exactly what he thought.
The stairs were steep and Rafael wasn’t ready for it, which made her next move easier than she’d hoped. She grabbed the shotgun he held across his chest and pulled as if to take it away from him. He came off the wall, facing her on the second step from the top as they struggled for the shotgun.
He was much stronger than her, so it wasn’t much of a struggle. She knew when to quit. Suddenly instead of pulling on the shotgun, she shoved, knocking Rafael off balance. He flailed, letting go with one hand to try to grab the railing. But he couldn’t hold on and went over backward.
She watched him tumble down the steep steps, banging his way down as he continued to try to hold on to the shotgun—and save himself.
Mariah knew that the fall probably wouldn’t keep him down long—let alone kill him. She grabbed the shotgun she’d set by the door and hurried down the stairs after him to find him lying on his side, his back to her.
She stopped four stairs up and pointed the shotgun at his back. All she had to do was pull the trigger and end this. Just shoot him in his back. Her hands were trembling from the weight of the shotgun and what she needed to do.
With a start, she saw Angel Vale suddenly fill the space just beyond Rafael. She raised the shotgun. She’d always liked Angel. He looked like a man who wished he was anywhere but here. He glanced at Rafael who was groaning and trying to get up. Angel blinked, looking confused and scared.
“Where is Darby?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“He’s...” Angel made a motion toward the bar area. She remembered hearing what sounded like a body being dragged into the saloon.
“Is he still alive?”
Angel’s eyes widened some in the ambient light from the kitchen. “I think so. I had to hit him again. But I think he’s still breathing.”
Rafael had pulled himself up into a sitting position at the bottom of the stairs. He started to reach for the shotgun that had landed next to him after he’d finally dropped it.
“Don’t!” she ordered.
He turned his head to look back up the stairs at her as if it hurt to do so. An angry scowl marked his handsome features. “You won’t shoot me.”
“I will.”
“No,” he said. “Or you already would have.” He started to get up.
She knew she had to stop him now. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
* * *
HARP HADN’T GONE far when he was forced to stop the van, open his door and throw up. His head was killing him and he was sick to his stomach. His blurred and often double vision told him that he was hurt badly. Probably a concussion. He was having trouble thinking clearly.
But even through the fog of his brain, he knew he was in serious trouble. He’d screwed up going to check what he’d thought was teenagers. For all he knew Darby Cahill and Mariah Ayers were dead by now. This was going to get him fired. Worse, he’d be a pariah in town. He’d have to move. He wouldn’t be able to get another law officer job—not with this hanging over him.
But more to the point, what was he going to do right now? He was driving the would-be killers’ van. He’d lost his weapon, stun gun, his raincoat and his patrol SUV. He couldn’t very well storm the saloon without a weapon. Nor could he radio in for backup.
As he came around a corner, he saw the Stagecoach Saloon through the diminishing rainstorm. The lights were on—and his patrol car was parked along the side.
* * *
IN THAT INSTANT before the boom of the shotgun reverberated in the stairwell making Mariah’s ears ring, Rafael lunged—not for the shotgun at his feet—but for her.
Her eyes flew open as he grabbed the end of her shotgun and shoved it aside. The blast of buckshot went off to the side, peppering the wall and sending up a cloud of sheetrock dust.
Before she could fire again, he grabbed the barrel, jerking her off her feet. Off balance, she fell down the last of the stairs and into him.
Rafael caught her, wrenched the shotgun out of her hands and threw it onto the floor. It skittered across the tile to come to rest at Angel’s feet, with Rafael barking at his cousin to pick it up. Then his hands were on her, his face twisted in fury. She noticed that some of the shot had hit his right arm, cutting through the deputy’s raincoat.
He slammed her against the wall. If he was wounded, he didn’t show it. He’d always been strong and violent. Neither the fall down the stairs nor the spray from the shotgun had changed that.
“You slept with him, didn’t you?” he demanded.
She didn’t have to ask who he meant. Rafael was no fool. She could have stayed upstairs with the shotgun and tried to wait him out. She could have called 911 and waited for help. But then he would have killed Darby.
Mariah looked him in the eye, refusing to be cowed by him. “Yes.”
“You lousy—”
The slap knocked her head back against the wall with a loud smack. “Bu
t he is only one of a dozen men I have slept with since I left you.”
He stared at her, his eyes bulging with fury. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? I would sleep with anyone but you and now I am...damaged, no longer pure, and if you touch me, you will be tainted, as well.”
He grabbed her by the throat, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I’ll kill you.”
Stars danced before her eyes and her head ached. Darkness began to close in around the edges of her vision. He would kill her. She’d known that, but this way was better than being raped by him first.
Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at his hands, but it was useless. All his fury was in his hands. He wanted to squeeze the life out of her and now he was.
She kneed him hard in the groin, as hard as she could. His hands released her neck, but only for a moment. She tried to get away from him, her vision fading in and out.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back into him before slamming her against the wall again. She fought, clawing at his face, his arms.
He slapped her with his free hand, then closed his fist and swung. She ducked most of the blow, but still he grazed her cheekbone, knocking her back with a smack into the wall. Stars glittered brightly and, for a moment, she thought she was going to pass out.
“Just get it over with,” she spat, glaring at him as he raised his fist again.
“Let go of her,” Darby ordered as he motioned Angel aside with the gun he held before turning it on Rafael.
* * *
HARP SLOWED THE VAN. If he could get to his patrol car’s radio... He turned off the van’s headlights and coasted down the hill, stopping a hundred yards out. Killing the engine, he sat for a moment trying to stop the spinning in his head. He was majorly messed up and that scared him—just not as much as the chance of running into those two men again.
But he needed medical attention and, unless he missed his guess, so did Mariah and Darby—if it wasn’t too late for them.
