by B. J Daniels
“LJ told you all this?” Jake asked.
Herb nodded. “He said they were all there, the pastor, Emma Jean, Sandra and her husband, Lonny.” The man seemed to hesitate. “LJ was leading Frank outside, trying to calm him down. He’d thought Lonny had left, but apparently he’d gone outside to cool off. LJ said he had to step between Lonny and Frank. Lonny was threatening to kill him.”
“A lot of people seemed to want Frank dead. Are you saying you think Lonny killed him?”
Herb looked away for a moment. “Frank also owed LJ money. That night, LJ said Frank started walking back down to the bar, where he’d left his vehicle, and Lonny had started his car to let it warm up before he went in to get Sandra to go home. With both of them calmed down, LJ went into the house to make sure everyone was all right before he left.
“They talked to the pastor and Emma Jean about getting a restraining order on Frank. Sandra left with her husband. LJ said he handled everything, but when he came back out, his rifle was gone from his truck. He was convinced that Frank had doubled back and stolen it. He was royally pissed since he figured Frank would pawn it for peanuts and the man already owed LJ money.”
It was quite the story. It sounded like something LJ had made up to explain what had happened to his rifle. “You have any idea what caliber the rifle was?”
“A .30-06,” Herb said.
“LJ never got his rifle back?” Jake asked.
“Before he could confront Frank, the man was killed.”
Killed with a bullet from a .30-06. “You told the sheriff about this?”
Herb frowned. “I’m sure LJ told him. Bud had given his son that rifle, had his name engraved on it. LJ was furious with Frank. I was worried that he might do something...stupid.”
“Like go get his rifle back,” Jake said.
Herb shrugged and looked guilty. “I’m not saying that LJ killed the man and got rid of his rifle. Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I feel like I’m telling tales out of school, but I felt like I owed you after the other night.”
“I appreciate that.”
The man hurried around the counter to unlock the front door for him. Jake was anxious to get back to the ranch. Back to Blaze.
* * *
SOMEONE WAS MOVING carefully down the hallway.
Blaze froze with fear, afraid to move, afraid to breathe as she tried to convince herself that she was wrong. That she was jumping at shadows because of everything that had happened since she’d come back to Montana.
She had to breathe. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She also had to move. She tried once more to find her phone, feeling around blindly as her pulse thundered in her ears. Her fingertips hit the corner of the phone. It skidded across the vanity and fell between the basin and the tub, making a thudding sound.
Her heart lodged in her throat. Now whoever was out there knew exactly where she was!
She started to reach down to try to find it when another floorboard creaked. Closer. She didn’t have time to make a call even if she could find her phone. No one could get to her fast enough anyway. She had to move! Now! She was on her own!
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that the bathroom doorway was a lighter rectangle of shadow than the hallway. She burst through it, turning quickly toward the living room as she ran full out until she was almost to the front door.
Her mind whirled. Make a run for it? Or try to find a weapon to defend herself? Behind her, she heard startled movement. Whoever it was, he was no longer worried about sneaking in. He was coming after her!
She wouldn’t be able to outrun him. She didn’t have keys for her pickup. No phone. She had a better chance if she could find something to defend herself with. All of that raced through her mind in an instant before she stopped short of the front door and stepped into the living room.
Rain began to streak the front windows. From the darkness outside came the pelting of the rain as it slashed down, obliterating everything beyond the glass. Inside, she bumped into the end table. The lamp started to topple. She grabbed it, closing her fist around the base, and jerked the cord free of the outlet.
She heard him coming fast and swung the heavy lamp base. As it made contact, the man made an animal keening sound and grabbed for her. His fingers clamped down on the tail of her shirt. She heard the fabric tear as she jerked away and stumbled into the couch. Leaping over it, she came down hard on the other side. She let out a cry of pain as she put weight on her right ankle. If she could get to the island in the kitchen and find a weapon...
She was reaching out blind, hoping she wasn’t turned around and headed in the wrong direction, when she limped into the edge of the kitchen island and quickly ducked behind it.
He let out a string of curses. It sounded as if he’d gotten tangled up in the lamp cord. He was breathing heavily as he kicked it away and began to work his way toward her through the blackness. She heard him collide with the couch. He was close now. Too close.
But it was his hoarse whispered words that turned her blood to ice.
“I’m going to kill you.”
She didn’t recognize the guttural winded voice. She didn’t care who he was. She was fighting for her life, her mind on finding something to use as a weapon against him. She had no doubt that he had one. A knife? A gun? She remembered the cup she’d left on the counter and walked her fingers carefully across the granite until she bumped it. She snatched it up and threw it to the far corner of the living room.
The cup hit the wall, shattering. The noise was quickly drowned out by two quick booms of a gun as he fired into the corner where she’d thrown the cup. With the reports covering the sound she made, she opened the silverware drawer, reached in, grabbed a handful of silverware and froze. The gunshots had been deafening—just like the silence that followed it.
She threw a handful of silverware in the direction the shots had come from and quickly ducked down behind the island again. He let out a scream of pain and fired two more shots in her direction. Behind her, she heard the microwave door explode. Another shot pinged off the tile backsplash and sent tile shards spraying over her.
Now he knew she was in the kitchen. He would be coming for her. She heard him advance toward her and crash into the coffee table. She grabbed another handful of silverware, the butter knives this time, threw them and dropped down again, her heart racing. She knew she couldn’t hold him off much longer. She had to find where her father now kept the sharp utility knives.
He let out a howl of pain and she heard something hit the floor. His gun? Had he dropped it? She could hear him moving the silverware around on the hardwood floor. He was searching for something. She could hear the clink of the silverware she’d thrown mixed with his curses.
She felt hope soar but quickly tamped it down. Even if he couldn’t find the gun, she was still in mortal danger. Nor could she give him time to find the gun.
Pulling out another drawer, she felt around, frantic to find a sharp knife. Her father must have moved the knives. Not her father, she realized. Allie. Monte had always kept them in a drawer. It would be just like Allie to buy him a knife block. All that whipped through her mind in an instant.
She grabbed the other kitchen utensils in the drawer and froze.
He must have heard the rattle of the silverware drawer because she realized that he’d stopped searching. Like her, he must have been holding his breath, because she couldn’t hear him breathing, either. A chill rocketed up her spine. Had he found the gun? Was he just waiting for her to make a sound before he fired?
When she thought she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she heard him move, shoving the couch aside, knocking over the other end table. The matching lamp hit the floor, the bulb shattering, the sound lost in his curses as he came storming toward her.
Fingers shaking, she hurled the utensils in her hand. She had to find a weapon that wo
uld stop him. Think! What was on the island or the kitchen counter that she could use? She felt around madly, knocking something that hit the floor and broke.
She heard him crash into the kitchen island and curse, low and hoarse. She closed her hand around the handle of the blender and threw it in his direction. He let out a cry, but the container wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage—just like the silverware.
Blaze picked up the base of the blender and jerked the cord free as she heard him moving around the end of the kitchen island. He sounded as if he’d hurt himself and, like her, was limping. She wanted to run, but she knew there was nowhere to run to, to get away.
She stood stone still, telling herself that she had to wait until he was close enough because she would get only one chance.
She heard her cell phone begin to ring from inside the bathroom.
* * *
AS SOON AS Jake had reached his pickup, he’d called Blaze. The phone rang and rang. He tried the number again, fighting panic. He’d told her to keep her phone handy, but if she was in the bath... Still, no answer.
Jake drove as fast as he could through the pouring rain toward the ranch. He tried Blaze again, leaving a message that she was to call the moment she heard his voice mail. Rain pelted the pickup so loud he feared he wouldn’t be able to hear his phone when she did call. If she called.
All his instincts told him that something was wrong. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Fear had his heart racing. He tried to think about anything but what could have happened to her. He told himself that if she’d gotten into the tub and forgotten her phone in the other room, he would never forgive her.
He tried to concentrate on his driving, to think about anything but what kind of trouble could have found her.
He thought about what Herb had told him. LJ was a bully. He liked to hurt women. He’d once hurt Blaze, even though she’d never told him. LJ had hurt Tawny, his fiancée. If the deputy thought that Frank had taken his rifle, he would have gone out to the man’s ranch to get it back before Frank had a chance to pawn it. They would have argued. LJ would have left with the rifle, but as he drove out of the Anson Ranch, his anger would have grown.
By the time he reached the county road, he could have looked back and seen Frank out in his pasture. He could have stopped and, not seeing any traffic, gotten out, laid the rifle over the hood of his truck and taken the shot. He would have taken a second one to make sure Frank was dead. That would be the shot that whizzed past Monte as he hurried toward the fallen man.
Jake almost missed the turn into the ranch, the rain was coming down so hard, the night so dark. By the time he drove under the arch, it had begun to snow.
* * *
HER CELL PHONE stopped ringing and then began to ring again. The man stood as frozen as she was. Blaze realized why. He didn’t know exactly where she was in the dark kitchen. She stayed perfectly still, holding her breath, afraid to make a sound. Had he found his gun? He hadn’t fired since she’d heard him drop something. She hoped that meant he no longer had it.
But he could have picked up something else to use as a weapon. Just as she had. Or he might just kill her with his bare hands. He sounded angry enough.
She waited for him to take a step. He was breathing hard from exertion or fury or pain...or excitement? She tried to think rationally and not let her terror force her to make a mistake that would cost her her life.
The base of the blender was growing heavy in her hand. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it still. But the moment she moved, he would hear her. If he had the gun... She couldn’t think about that. She focused on the sound of his breathing, gauging the distance between them.
Take a step, she willed him. Just one step. Then he would be close enough that if she swung the blender base at the spot where she could hear him breathing...
He took a step.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BLAZE COULD ALMOST feel his breath on her face as she swung the base of the blender. It struck him in the head. She felt spittle spray across her face and heard his scream of pain. He grabbed for her, his fingers locking down on her arm. She struck out at him with her fist and connected with something hard. She heard a snap and another scream as he released his hold on her and stumbled back.
She turned and tried to run. The floor was slick with something. His blood? She careened around the corner and started down the hallway.
Behind her, she heard his lumbering footfalls. She heard him crash into something. The hallway wall? She told herself that if she could reach her father’s den—just as she thought of the loaded handgun her father kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, she remembered that the sheriff had taken all of his guns again.
All hope fled as she was struck in the back and felt herself falling. She wouldn’t have been able to reach the den and the gun anyway, she thought as she went down. The air rushed from her lungs even before he fell on her. Deprived of oxygen, she still fought to escape, kicking and crawling as she tried to get him off her.
He grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking her head back as he fought to get a better grip on her. “Bitch!” he spit as her foot found his groin in a hard kick.
His arm looped around her throat, cutting off the air she’d only just been able to suck into her lungs again.
Then his voice was next to her ear. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You had to keep pushing, didn’t you? I knew the moment you saw me with that rifle that you would put it together. I thought if I could hide the rifle I’d taken in the back of LJ’s pickup and then make an anonymous call to one of the other deputies as to where they could find the murder weapon... But then you saw me. I knew you would have come forward and told. The only way is to shut you up for good.” He leaned harder on her, fury in his every ragged breath.
“Frank deserved to die. I did it for Sandra. For our baby. Frank would have never left us alone. He would have bled us dry with his blackmail.”
Surprise shot through her as she recognized the voice so edged with anger and what could have been regret.
Lonny Dean.
* * *
JAKE ROARED UP to the ranch house and leaped from his pickup. He stopped for a moment, breathing hard. The house was dark. Blaze’s pickup was parked out front. Nothing seemed amiss.
And yet he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he’d had in town. His heart pounded with the fear that had sent him racing back to the ranch. Snow fell around him, a wonderland of white. Grabbing his gun and his flashlight, he climbed out. He heard nothing but the crunch of his boots on the fallen snow as he reached the front door of the house. Locked.
He quickly stepped around to the back door. As he neared the door, he saw that it was standing slightly ajar. The wind? If Blaze had forgotten to lock it...
Stepping closer, he quickly eased the door all the way open. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He started to step in when he heard a grunt from down the hallway. He moved toward the sound, his gun drawn, a large flashlight in his other hand.
* * *
OVER THE MAN’S ragged breaths, Blaze thought she’d heard the sound of a vehicle roaring into the yard. Jake? Lonny had heard something, too. He swore and tightened his hold on her as he dragged her to her feet.
She could feel his frustration. He’d come this far. He had to finish what he started even if he was caught. Even if he had to kill more people.
She thought of Jake. He might not even realize anything was wrong and go straight to the bunkhouse. Even if he tried the front door, he would find it locked. He would think she was in bed, asleep.
That had been him she’d heard, hadn’t it?
As Lonny jerked her to her feet, holding her up with the arm around her throat, she felt a sob work its way up her throat but willed herself not to cry.
The house was still pitch-black insid
e. But outside she could see snow falling in a white shroud. Had she seen movement outside? She tried to scream Jake’s name to warn him.
But little sound came out as Lonny’s gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, but her kicks and jabs with her elbows did little more than make him angrier.
“Shut up!” he whispered hoarsely.
He dragged her toward the living room. The falling snow outside the windows cast a little light into the room. She realized he was looking for his gun. He dragged her toward a spot where she could see the sparkle of silverware on the floor. She could hear him muttering to himself.
Blaze told herself that if he found the gun, he would kill her and then Jake if that had been him returning. She couldn’t let that happen. He would have to let her go to pick up the gun. It would be her only chance.
* * *
THE LIGHT IN the hallway was dim. Jake listened. He could hear movement in the living room and that same grunting sound he’d heard before. All his instincts told him that Blaze was in trouble—and she wasn’t alone.
He wanted to race down the hallway to her. It took all of his willpower not to do just that. Seconds could count. If he didn’t get to her soon enough...
Jake shook away the thought as he carefully worked his way down the hallway. He had to know what the situation was. Going in guns blazing could get the woman he loved killed. If she was still alive.
His heart told him she was. He had to believe that. He couldn’t lose her. He paused at her bedroom door. The room was dark like the rest of the house. But her curtains were open, the snowfall outside providing a little light. He didn’t want to turn on the flashlight. Not yet. He could make out her bed. She wasn’t in it, just as he’d known she wouldn’t be.
He kept going, cringing when a step made the floorboards creak. Just a little farther and he would reach the end of the hallway, where it opened up into the kitchen and living room.
* * *
BLAZE HEARD THE creak of a floorboard in the hall. She didn’t think that Lonny had heard it, though. He was breathing hard from exertion since she continued to fight him, hoping for one of her kicks or elbow jabs to loosen his hold on her. Nor did she want him to find his gun.