Jace drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I'm afraid not. I..."
"Did you check Dallas? See what's on their sheets? Check the Internet for any articles? Anything?"
"Sure did. There's not a thing."
"I know they're still having murders in Dallas, so something sure as hell had to show up."
Jace shook his head. “I ran down everything I could find, every murder, every major crime in the last six months. Even had Austin check it out for me. They get everything up there. I couldn't find anything where there was even a hint of suspicions about cops being involved, or anything involving a woman. I'm sorry."
Morgan slammed his fist on the desk. “Damn it to hell, anyway."
Marcy opened the door a crack and stuck her head in. “Chief, you might want to hold down the cursing and keep your voice a little lower. I think you scared ten years out of these two rookies out here."
"Sorry, Marcy. You, too, Jace."
"It's okay, Chief.” Marcy gave him a smile. “Seems all you've got is problems right now."
"Yeah, well I guess they come in bunches. Jace, start digging for anything that looks hinky. Anywhere in the state of Texas. God knows, I hope we don't have to go through the whole United States."
"I'm on it."
"And keep after something on that dead body. You'd think by this time someone would have missed him.
"Can you give me some kind of hint about what I'm looking for?"
"I wish I could. Just something big that smells rotten. You'll know it when you find it. Call me the minute you get your teeth into anything."
"Okay. I'll get started."
* * * *
The nerve of that man.
Allison stood under the hot shower, calling down every curse she could think of on Morgan Cutter's head. When she finished with him, she started in on Amber. She was torn between pounding her head against the tile wall and giving into tears of frustration.
Damn you, Morgan Cutter. My life was nice and neat and orderly before you came along.
But boring, if she was honest. Her job, that she'd thought was so glamorous, had turned out to mean less to her than the man she fell in love with. The people she worked with were exposed as phonies and jerks. And San Antonio without Paige lost some of its luster. The things they'd enjoyed so much together seemed flat without their friendship to spruce it up.
She hadn't wanted to fall so hard for Morgan. What did they have in common, after all? But she had, and in a burst of emotion she'd quit her job, packed her bags and run to White Tail to see if she could make a life with him work for them both. She'd even planned to call a real estate agent to list her condo. And now look what happened.
What a load of nerve, chasing after her on horseback like that, practically kidnapping her and throwing her into bed with him. Like sex could make everything better. Of course, if she was honest with herself, sex with Morgan could make almost anything better. But he had to get that damn Amber out of his house.
Neither Myra nor John Howell had said a word when she'd come back to the ranch. John didn't even comment on her disheveled appearance or the fact that she was riding holding to the saddle for dear life. He'd just taken the reins from her and helped her down. Myra met her at the door with a tall glass of iced tea and silently watched her climb the stairs to her room.
She was too antsy to sit around the ranch, especially with the Howells watching her with ill-concealed sympathy. And she didn't particularly want to be alone with her thoughts. Morgan said he wanted to build a relationship. If she wanted the same thing, then the demands couldn't just be one way. She knew right now he needed her understanding, except she was too mad to give it. Every time she thought about him, all she saw was Amber's mocking face and that rapacious look on her face, and her blood began to boil all over again.
Finally she took out her cell phone and punched a number on speed dial.
"Hi, Donna?"
"Allison! Hi. Are you doing all right?"
"Yes. No. No, I'm not. I hate to keep bothering you at home, but..."
"Oh, honey, what happened now?"
"Morgan came to see me."
"Well, that doesn't sound so bad."
"Amber's still there. And he doesn't know for how long."
"Oh, Allison.” Donna's voice was sympathetic. “It's hell to love a man with a code of ethics, isn't it? Okay, what can we do to help?"
"I don't know. I just—needed to talk, I guess. Are you and Derek busy tonight?"
"Actually, we're going to The Pig's Eye for burgers and beer. Why don't you come along?"
"Are you sure? I hate to intrude on your free time."
"That's what friends are for, kiddo. Listen, why don't you come to our place and we'll go together?"
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Come on.” Donna chuckled. “We'll have a good time and you can flirt with the ranch hands that hang out there."
"Okay. Thank you."
She wrote down the directions Donna gave her, thanked her again and went to get dressed. At least for a few hours she could try to keep her mind off the mess her life had become.
* * * *
By six o'clock Morgan's head felt like the wrong side of a jackhammer. He was sick to death of trying to make sense out of the only two crimes of any note to happen in White Tail since he took office, and wondering what the hell Amber had actually gotten herself into and if he could manage to get the truth out of her without killing her.
Looking at his watch, he realized he should pick up some food and go home. He had no appetite himself but he didn't want Amber to accuse him of trying to starve her to death.
Jace was still working at his desk, the phone tucked against one ear while he tapped away on his computer keyboard. He looked up as Morgan approached and said into the handset, “Hold on a sec."
"Anything?” Morgan asked.
Jace shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe. But I still have a lot of people to talk to."
"I'm going home. Call me on my cell phone if you get anything. Anything at all."
"Will do, Chief.” He took his hand off the mouthpiece. “Okay, sorry. Go ahead, please."
"You look like you need a drink or three, Chief,” Marcy told him as he passed her desk.
"Yeah, I feel like it. Maybe a whole bottle. Too bad too much alcohol makes me sick."
"Take care of yourself, you hear?"
"Easier said than done."
He stopped at the Handy Pantry to pick up some barbecued chicken and coleslaw, two things he remembered Amber liked to eat. Although why the hell he should care was a question he couldn't answer.
When he let himself in the back door, Amber was sitting at the snack bar in the kitchen, watching the little television and making serious inroads in a bottle of good Sister Creek Muscat Canelli he'd been saving to drink with Allison.
"Nice of you to come home,” she drawled, leaning back in one bar stool, her legs propped up on the other, one hand cradling her wine glass.
"Amber, you're not here for a social visit.” He slammed the paper bag with the food down on the counter. “But just as soon as I change we're going to find out the exact purpose of your visit. If you're going to wreck my life again, I want to be prepared."
She slid off the bar stool and came around to where he was standing, pressing herself against his back and slipped one hand around to slide between the buttons of his shirt. “It doesn't have to be that bad, baby. We made some pretty good music together."
Morgan wrenched her hand away from his body and spun around so fast he nearly knocked her over. Wine sloshed from the glass onto his shirt and pants. “Damn it, Amber, cut it out. We're not playing house. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd murder you myself.” He shoved her roughly aside and headed for the stairs. “When I come back downstairs, be prepared to answer questions."
He left Amber staring open-mouthed. The entire time he stripped off the clothes wet from the wine and pulled on jeans and a tee shirt he curs
ed, a steady stream of every swear word he'd ever learned. He wanted to take a pill and wake up when this nightmare was over.
Amber was putting out the food when he returned to the kitchen, and setting out plates for them on the snack bar
"Thanks for getting this, Morgan. I appreciate it."
"Don't soft soap me,” he growled. “I didn't want it on my conscience that you starved to death. Otherwise I could care less."
"I know you're mad at me, and I don't blame you.” Her voice was more subdued. “I appreciate you taking me in this way, but trust me, you don't want to know any details from me. You're much better off that way."
"That's my decision, not yours. Eat first. Then we'll talk. And this time you aren't avoiding me, Amber."
Morgan put some food on a plate and slid a bar stool around to the end of the counter, as far away from Amber's seat as possible. “I'm a sworn officer of the law. I can't work on this thing blind. I have enough problems with a dead body I can't identify without worrying what kind of mess you've brought with you."
Amber gave a nasty laugh. “Dead body? Here? Who'd kill anyone in White Tail? They're all such goody two shoes."
"This guy's not from around here. Matter of fact, we don't even know where he's from. Can't identify him."
"No? You mean no one remembers losing someone out here in the Texas wilderness?"
"It's kind of hard to identify anyone when their hands are cut off and most of the teeth are yanked out their mouth."
Her hand stilled midway between her plate and her mouth, a chicken wing dangling from her fingers. “Did you say they cut off his hands?"
"Yeah. It's a sure bet they didn't want us to find out who he was. Strange thing, too. We circulated his picture, but we haven't got any hits. I was sure someone who pissed off people enough to have this done to him would have a rap sheet somewhere."
"W-When did this happen? If he's not from around here, how did you get the body?"
Morgan swallowed a mouthful of cole slaw and washed it down with a swallow of beer. “Wherever he was killed, it wasn't here. There wasn't a drop of blood at the scene. Someone just dumped his body here, and I'll be damned if I can figure out why. No one around here has the faintest idea who he is, not even any of the stray ranch hands."
"So you have no clues at all?"
Morgan looked up at her, narrowing his eyes when he spotted the sudden paleness of her face and the faint tremor in the hand holding her food. “I know I'll hate myself for asking this, but is this possibly someone you know?"
Before she could answer him, his cell phone rang. He jerked it off his belt and punched Talk. “Yeah? Oh, hi Jace. Got something?"
Amber's eyes were on him the entire time he was listening. Something shifted in her gaze, something that gave him a distinctly uneasy feeling. As he listened to Jace, that sensation grew, and the “walking over my grave” feeling crawled up his back.
"Okay. Thanks. Good work. Why don't you put all that stuff in a folder and come on over to the house? Yeah, I think it would be better for you to come here. You'll see why. Okay. In fifteen."
He disconnected the call and gave Amber a hard look. “Jace Murdock will be here shortly. He's got our body identified, and also picked up some other interesting tidbits. Is there anything you'd like to tell me before he gets here?"
Amber's hand was unsteady as she picked up her wine glass. “About?"
"This so-called crime you witnessed in Dallas, involving dirty cops, that no one seems to know anything about except you."
"Are you saying you don't believe me?” she challenged.
Morgan took another swallow of his beer and set the bottle down with a precise movement. “Oh, I believe someone's trying to kill you. But that's all I believe. I think you're in bigger trouble than you want to admit and you thought good old Morgan, the sucker, would hide you and protect you. Did you find yourself a little out of your league this time?"
When she was silent, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. But when Jace gets here it'll all be out in the open anyway."
Chapter Seventeen
Allison was shocked to see The Pig's Eye so crowded on a Monday night. Most of the places she was used to only got this crowded on the weekend, but Paige had told her the bar functioned as the local social club. Ranch hands especially used it as a place to hang out after a hard day's work.
She looked around the long paneled room, noting the old-fashioned bar with the mirror behind it, a pool table at one end and even a tiny dance floor.
"Wow!” She shook her head. “I didn't think places like this existed any more."
"This is a family-run place,” Donna pointed out. “So it's a little different than your average neighborhood bar. The man behind the bar serving beer as fast as he can is the owner, George Battle."
"That's his daughter, Misty, waitressing,” Derek added. “His wife and son run the kitchen."
Nearly every table was full, but Allison and the Youngs managed to find one in the middle of the room that a couple was just leaving. The room was redolent with the rich aromas of spicy chili, hamburgers, nachos and beer. Almost everyone seemed to be eating something.
Derek laughed. “We don't stay open for dinner unless it's a special occasion of some kind, and the only other options are The Ice Creamery that serves sandwiches and salads or Avery's Barbecue. But he doesn't have a liquor license."
"Who are all these people?” Allison gave a little laugh. “It looks like the whole town is here."
"Just residents,” Donna told her. “Ranch hands. Whoever. People come in to watch baseball on the big screen televisions. In the fall and winter it's football. The place is just a nice hangout."
"Hey, Donna, Derek. How y'all doin'?” Misty Battle, in denim cutoffs and a tee shirt that said Pigs Fly materialized with a bar tray and a pad of paper.
"Fine, Misty.” Donna waved a hand at Allison. “This is Allison Moore, a friend of the new Mrs. Ryan Cutter. She's come to visit a while."
"Ooh,” Misty swooned. “That man is too dreamy. I wanted him to wait for me but he said Paige just captured his heart."
"His new wife is Allison's friend,” Donna repeated.
"Oh, sorry.” Misty giggled. “No offense, but just about every female in White Tail's been in love with that man at one time or another.” She smoothed her pony tail. “'Course, there's always Morgan, if he could just get over that bitch ex-wife of his. Mm-mm. That is some handful of man."
"Uh, Misty?” Derek grinned at her. “I think Allison kind of has dibs on him."
"Oh, hell.” A blush spread over her young face. “I'd better take y'all's order before I put both feet in my mouth."
Derek ordered Jack Daniels, the women ordered beer, and as Allison settled into her chair, the hot voice of Toby Keith floated into the air.
"A juke box?” She peered around. “Does this place have a real live juke box?"
"Sure does,” Derek answered. “You might even see some brave souls get up to dance if they can take all the catcalls."
Misty brought their drinks, and they all clinked glasses and bottles.
"Thanks for asking me along.” Allison gave them a weak smile. “I was about to go crazy."
"No problem.” Donna squeezed her hand. “Although I can guarantee you Morgan's not having much fun if he's locked up in the house with his ex-wife."
Allison glanced over both shoulders. “I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that."
Derek chuckled. “Honey, you could probably shout the Pledge of Allegiance in here and no one would hear you over the music and the talking.""
Donna set her drink down and eyed Allison. “So, kiddo. Want to tell us what's up?"
Allison sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Lordy, I don't even know where to start. I thought I had a handle on things until Amber walked into the house today. Now I feel like my whole life's been turned upside down. Six weeks ago I knew who and what I was. Now I don't even know where I belong."
"You can belong to me i
f you're not spoken for."
They all looked up at the man standing beside their table. Not quite as tall as Morgan or Derek, he was nevertheless a hottie, with dark blond sun streaked hair, eyes that looked like hot chocolate, and interesting lines in his craggy face. His lean body was packed into soft-looking jeans and a blue chambray shirt. He had one of the nicest smiles Allison had ever seen.
"Hey, Marc. Meet Allison Moore.” Derek turned to Allison. “Marc Hanson, vice president of Cattleman's Bank. He also runs the local branch."
"Nice to meet you, Allison Moore.” Marc held out his hand. “Mind if I sit down next to you?” He was already pulling out a chair.
"Not as long as you scoot over and make room for me. I'll even buy the next round.” Tate Donovan appeared as if from nowhere. He looked at the three Hispanic men at the next table. “Y'all mind if I steal this chair? Thanks."
"Okay, everyone.” Donna was laughing. “Just remember the chief's got first dibs on Miss Moore, here."
"Not if he doesn't pick up her option pretty soon,” Tate corrected her. He reached for one of Allison's hands. “Dump the chief and I'll make you queen of The Yellow Rose, darlin'."
"More like a cook for the ranch hands,” Derek chuckled. “I hear you keep chasing ‘em off, Tate."
"Are you visiting here?” Marc asked, edging closer to Allison.
"Yes. No. Maybe.” She wrinkled her forehead. “I know that sounds pretty vague, but so are my plans right now."
"Allison just quit her job with a bank in San Antonio,” Donna chimed in. “She'd sure look good in your place, Marc."
He raised an eyebrow. “Were you a teller?"
Allison shook her head. “Community relations. It was my job to pump up the bank's image in the city and attract new customers. Especially commercial accounts."
"Is that a fact?” Marc took a long pull of his beer. “You know, Cattleman's has been expanding and at our last executive meeting we talked about hiring someone just like that. Only out here it would mean a lot of traveling between small communities. If you're serious about hanging around here and you think that might interest you, why don't you come in and talk to me tomorrow morning? We'll see if you and Cattleman's might be a good fit."
Cutter's Law Page 19