Sinister

by Nancy Bush

  “Geez, Mom. Come on … Do you think she set fire to our house, too … because I saw the drugs? You think she meant to kill me!”

  “Shhh. I mean it. Don’t jump to conclusions. This is dangerous. Let me talk to Sam.” She was sorry already she’d said anything to her daughter and was worried that she’d set Brook on a path of conclusions from which she wouldn’t stray, when there were still too many questions left to be answered. “Come on. Get in the truck. I’m taking you with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever I’m going to be,” she muttered, punching in another call to her cell phone as she grabbed Brook’s arm and hurried her toward her truck. “Colton, hey … I’m sorry to bother you. Just wanted you and Delilah to know that Brook’s going to be with me for the rest of the day …”

  Who was at the Dillinger house at the time of both fires?

  The question haunted Hunter as he took a shower at the station and changed into the spare set of clothes he kept in a locker. He was just leaving the locker room when he ran straight into Whit Crowley.

  “What are you doing here?” Hunter asked, looking past the man for his buddy Graves, but it looked like Whit was alone. Maybe Graves, at least, was taking his dismissal seriously.

  “Gotta clear out the old locker now that I’ve been … terminated.”

  Hunter was sick of tangling with Crowley and his juvenile tactics of intimidation and he brushed past the man, hoping it was the last time.

  “Can’t stop burning down the Dillingers, can ya?” Crowley called after him. “First that guest house and now the main house … didn’t expect the lady of the house to be there … or was that planned, too?”

  Hunter ground his teeth.

  “Your days are numbered, y’know. Now you’ve killed someone. And I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

  Hunter stopped short at the door. “Do your worst,” he ground out.

  “They’re all gonna know what you did …” he went on, but Hunter was already out the door.

  Hearing a text come in, he pulled out his cell and examined it as he headed for his truck. It was from Delilah, asking where he was and if she could meet with him.

  His first instinct was to say yes, but he stopped himself. He thought about the stables and then the fire … and the way she’d been … the way they’d all been … in the aftershock of Pilar’s death. He needed time to think. About Delilah. About what he wanted. About what was possible.

  Climbing into the cab, he texted back: Will call you later.

  Then he drove off toward the mountains, putting some time and space between himself and Prairie Creek, needing a few hours to himself, needing to shut down his mind for a while.

  Even as he told himself as much, the question he’d been asking himself all day returned: Who was at the Dillinger house at the time of both fires?

  Delilah jostled along in Ira’s Jeep Cherokee. She’d stayed at the house about as long as she could stand it. Jen and Nell had returned and Jen had herded up her two children from Colton and Sabrina’s care, put them in the car and taken them to the Tumbleweed Inn, the only overnight lodging in Prairie Creek worth knowing about. Tyler had been at the impromptu meeting after Pilar’s death but hadn’t said anything. While Jen was packing up the kids, Delilah had asked him if he was going with them, and his answer had been, “I guess not.”

  She’d left Nell trying to comfort Ira, who was shell-shocked, gray-skinned and spent. Delilah hadn’t been able to say anything to him. She was too angry with the way he’d treated Hunter. When she’d headed for the Jeep she’d found Tyler along the fence line, looking off in the distance as if following the invisible trail that had been left in his family’s departure.

  “Where are you going?” he’d yelled at her as she drove off.

  Somewhere else. Her answer was a lifted hand in good-bye. She just couldn’t be in the house anymore, and not only because of the wet, smoky smell that permeated the place or the sense of gloom, disbelief and fear. She needed to clear her head and think things through. Too much was happening in too short a time, a free fall from her old life.

  All she knew for certain was that she wanted Hunter in her new life.

  She headed into Prairie Creek proper, determined to drive around in circles if need be to pass the time until Hunter got back to her. She realized with a sense of shock that tears were pooling in her eyes and she brushed them angrily away. It was terrible. Everything was terrible. She sure as hell wanted Ricki and Sam to find out who was doing this and put an end to it, but damn it all, she wanted to be with Hunter, too. Wanted to throw herself into his arms. Wanted to cry her eyes out until there was nothing left.

  An hour went by … then two … Delilah had parked in the Menlo’s Market lot and she woke up to find herself staring blankly through the windshield in a kind of self-induced trance. Hunter wasn’t going to text her back. Had he forgotten, or … did he not want to see her?

  Well, tough. She was going to see him. She wasn’t about to let another eighteen years slip by. If she needed to prostrate herself at his feet and swear her undying love, it would be better than being separated again. When she thought about the possibility of having to leave him and go back to her old life, she wanted to rip her hair from her head and scream at the Fates.

  This time she was going to have her say, and not with a note left in the hollow of a tree. This time she was going to have a face-to-face, and damn the consequences.

  She knew where Hunter lived and she drove past his house, but the place looked deserted in the dull afternoon light diffused by the overhead cloud cover. Next, she went by Prairie Creek Fire and Rescue, but Hunter’s Chevy truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Would he go to his parents’ place?

  Not likely. Hunter and Georgina’s relationship made Kit and Mia’s seem like it was out of a 1950s sitcom. But then Georgina’s relationship with everyone had always been difficult. Delilah didn’t really know Hunter’s mother, but she remembered her from her youth: grim, suspicious and laser-focused. As a teen, as much as Delilah had worried about Ira learning about Hunter’s and her love affair, she had woken up from more than one nightmare where Georgina learned of it.

  “She’s just an older woman now,” Delilah murmured to herself as she made her way to the Kincaid property.

  Swallowing her misgivings, she turned into the long drive that wound to the front of the two-story Kincaid house with its wings that flared out on both ends. Snow had been shoveled away from the track leading to the front porch and hard, dusty ground showed through. The snow that remained was in dirty piles on either side that were slowly shrinking into hard mounds.

  The place was rustic. Too rustic. A shutter listed on one of the upstairs windows; another was gone altogether. Delilah felt uncomfortable as she thought of how her father gleefully had admitted that he wasn’t planning to drill for oil on Dillinger land, intimating that his deal with Georgina somehow favored him and maybe shafted the Kincaids.

  Hunter’s truck wasn’t anywhere to be seen here, either. Maybe he’d driven around the house to the back to park, or more likely he wasn’t here at all. She had no wish to meet with Georgina on her own, although the Major had always been a decent man and apparently still was, the way people talked about him.

  But now Ira’s Jeep was in full view. If she turned around and left, would Georgina take it as a slight? Good God, she was annoyed at herself for her indecision.

  Maybe she should just leave well enough alone …

  Instead, she found herself heading up those cracked wooden steps and crossing the porch to the front door. Several hounds began baying at the sound of her knock and when the door opened suddenly, Delilah wondered if Georgina had been on the other side, just waiting for her. “Hello, Georgina. I was wondering if, um, Hunter was here.”

  Georgina looked her up and down, then said, “Come in,” waving her inside.

  Delilah crossed the threshold and Georgina shut the door behind her. A frisson of fea
r began to slide down Delilah’s back. Feeling how tense she was inside, she tried hard to relax.

  “Sad business up at your place. Come sit in the kitchen,” Georgina said, stalking toward the back of the house.

  Delilah followed her reluctantly. She sensed Hunter wasn’t around and she did not want to be around his mother any longer than she needed to be. “Doesn’t look like Hunter’s here,” she said, entering the kitchen where Georgina was standing in front of the back door, looking through the door’s window onto the fields beyond.

  “Nope. He was yesterday. Talked to the Major.” Her face was grim and Delilah got the impression that she was having some inner dialogue with herself.

  Delilah fingered her cell, which she’d stuffed in her pocket. She wanted to text Hunter but had to wait till she got through talking to Georgina.

  “So, Pilar’s dead, huh.”

  “Yes …” Delilah didn’t want to talk about it, least of all to Georgina, but she managed. “Hunter and I tried to save her.”

  “Fire got her? The smoke?”

  “Seemed more like she was unconscious from something else.”

  Georgina lifted a brow. “What?”

  “You’d have to ask the sheriff’s department. I don’t know.”

  “Why are you looking for Hunter?”

  “I just wanted to see how he was doing, I guess.”

  “Care about him, do ya?”

  Delilah hardly knew how to respond. “He really tried to save Pilar. It was just too late.”

  “I know you’re sleeping with him,” she stated flatly, surprising Delilah so much she almost choked.

  There was no way Hunter would have told her about the stables. No way. Not with everything that had gone on today, and not anyway. There wasn’t time and he just wouldn’t do it.

  “I’d better get going,” Delilah said.

  “You Dillinger girls. Think you can have anything you want.”

  Delilah stared at her. This woman was the mother of the man she loved. She didn’t want to completely ruin any hope of renewed Dillinger/Kincaid relationships, but it was amazing how rude Georgina was. She fought out, “Say hello to the Major for me,” and turned for the front door.

  “You can’t have my son,” she said. “I told him the same thing before he left.”

  “I don’t think that’s your decision,” she said, hesitating.

  “Didn’t know I’d have a chance to be telling both of you the same thing. You can’t be together.”

  “I’ll let Hunter tell me that,” Delilah answered coolly.

  “Sometimes a rumor’s true, you know?”

  Delilah felt the hair on her arms rise and she slowly turned around to look into Georgina Kincaid’s avid eyes. She’s enjoying herself. “What rumor?”

  “Ask your father.”

  Georgina looked like she could hardly contain herself. She wanted Delilah to keep asking her questions, but it was clear she would keep up this strange cat and mouse game. Delilah turned her back on her, then headed for the front door and Ira’s Jeep. Climbing inside, she tore away from the Kincaid house and out onto the main road, aiming for the Rocking D, driving faster than she should. But she didn’t care. There was something going on … something uneven beneath her feet that threatened to trip her. Did Hunter know what Georgina meant? She’d said she’d warned him off Delilah as well.

  About three miles separated the Kincaid ranch house from the Dillingers’ new one. The lane to the old homestead was in between. As she passed the turnoff to the homestead a truck lumbered out from the lane and followed after her in the direction of the Rocking D. She wondered what someone was doing up there; there wasn’t much other than the ruined house and more Dillinger property. Maybe it was one of Ira’s workers?

  Glancing in her rearview mirror, she realized the truck was suddenly gaining on her. Here she’d thought it was slow moving, but it suddenly seemed to be pursuing her as if it were jet-propelled.

  “Hey!” Delilah stomped on the accelerator. She didn’t know what the hell he was up to, but by God she wasn’t waiting around to find out.

  The road was patchy with ice and snow. Her tires slipped, caught, slipped again. Her hands were sweaty on the wheel. “Shit,” she murmured, beginning to feel real fear.

  Bam! The front end of the gray truck smacked into her. Delilah hung on to the steering wheel, madly fighting for control. BAM! He hit her again and now her wheels locked and she screamed as the Jeep tore off the road and over a ditch and through a fence. She threw one arm up to protect herself, her head slamming into her side window. Dazed, she smashed the heel of her hand down on the horn, blasting it. WWWAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

  The truck kept on going, zipping past her and fishtailing as the driver stomped on the brake. Then it suddenly whipped fully around, facing back at her. Delilah saw it all through a haze. If he came at her again. If he hit her broadside …

  She saw the truck’s front tires spin and catch. The grill was coming toward her.

  She unbelted herself with stiff, unresponsive fingers. Tried to scrabble across to the passenger seat. Hurry … oh, God … hurry!

  Whoosh!

  The truck zoomed right past her, racing back the way she’d come. She looked up and tried to see the license plate but it was crusted over with dirt.

  Her heart was thundering. Her breath coming in gasps. Minutes passed.

  Then she heard another horn and turned her head slowly toward the Rocking D. A vehicle was fast approaching.

  One hand strayed to her forehead and came away bloody. When she’d banged her head into the side window, she’d split the skin next to her hairline above her left eyebrow.

  She saw that it was Colton’s truck. She wanted to tell him to speed after the truck, which had disappeared around a bend in the road, but was struggling to find the energy. He sprang from the vehicle and ran to hers, yanking open the driver’s door. “Delilah. You all right? What happened?”

  “I was … run off the road …”

  “What?” He whipped out his cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No.” Delilah made a concentrated effort to get out of the car and show him she was all right.

  “Then I’m calling Sam. Did you see who did this?”

  “No …” All she’d seen was a gray truck, like Hunter’s.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Delilah lay on the den couch as Nell fussed over her. “I’m okay. I’m really okay,” she said for about the hundredth time.

  “Someone’s trying to hurt our family.” Nell’s face was drained of color as she leaned forward and tried to put another wet compress on Delilah’s forehead.

  Delilah blocked her with one arm and sat up.

  “You’ve got a cut right at your hairline,” Nell said.

  “It’s a scratch,” Delilah muttered.

  “It’s a cut. You should probably have it stitched up.”

  “A Band-Aid will do. Head wounds bleed a lot. Doesn’t mean they’re serious.”

  Colton had tried again to call 9-1-1, but Delilah had managed to talk him out of it. Just. Now he was back at the bunkhouse with the kids and Sabrina. He’d been walking to his truck, planning to head into Prairie Creek for some pizza to feed the troops, when he’d heard the Jeep’s horn. Immediately, he’d jumped into the truck and driven as fast as he could to find her. He hadn’t known what to expect, but with all the danger and tragedy surrounding them, he’d acted first, figuring he could ask questions later.

  “I’m okay. Better than okay,” Delilah insisted as she got to her feet. “I’ve got some things I need to do.”

  “Colton’s coming right back.”

  “Good. I need his truck.”

  Nell shook her head. “You’re as stubborn as Dad. Worse.”

  “Where is Dad?”

  “In town.”

  Delilah didn’t really want to see Colt. She wanted to see Hunter. But as she took three steps toward the kitchen her head felt woozy, and though she managed to hid
e it from Nell, she sank into a kitchen chair as soon as she was out of her sister’s sight and sighed. She needed to find her cell phone and call Hunter but didn’t have the energy to find her purse yet. She’d told Colt to grab it from Ira’s Jeep, but she wasn’t sure that had happened.

  She was getting to her feet again, definitely feeling better, when she heard her father’s truck rumble into the yard. A few moments later Ira slammed inside the house. Something about the sound of that didn’t bode well for her father’s frame of mind.

  But Delilah was pissed, too. At the way her father had treated Hunter, and at the wild driver who’d run her down. It gave her a cold feeling when she thought about how deliberate that attack had been. Was this the arsonist … the killer? The one who seemed to have something against the Dillingers?

  Ira stuck his head in the kitchen and said, “What the hell happened to the Cherokee?”

  “I put it in the ditch.” She found she couldn’t explain, but as it turned out she didn’t have to because Nell was right there. Before he could ask anything further she started regaling her father with the events that had led to the crash, and then Colton returned and joined in, and Delilah felt the first twinges of a headache coming on and just tuned them all out.

  It would be too embarrassing to admit, but she just wanted to push everything aside for a few minutes and talk to Hunter. They’d made love and it had been wonderful and they hadn’t had a moment together since. Where was he? She had an uneasy feeling inside that he’d run away from her, like she’d run away from him so long ago. But no. That wasn’t how Hunter was made.

  Thoughts of Georgina and her insinuations intruded on her thoughts and she tried to push them away. She didn’t want to let Hunter’s obsessive mother inside her head. She really didn’t give a damn what either she or Abby had meant.

  The din around her had turned into a shouting match with Ira blaming Hunter Kincaid for damn near everything, and Nell and Colton trying to get him to listen to reason. Delilah wanted to clap her hands over her ears.

  And none of them knew yet that it had been a similar truck to Hunter’s that had run her off the road. Gray … well, maybe dirty white, but she didn’t think so. Just wait till that shit hit the fan.