by Nancy Bush
“I’ve gotta lie down,” Delilah said.
“Told you,” Nell said.
Actually, it was more an excuse to get away from them than anything else, but they didn’t have to know that. As Delilah moved past Ira, she said, “I may need to use your truck tomorrow. I’ve got some things to do.”
“So you can put it in a ditch?”
“She was run off the road,” Colton reminded him tersely.
“By a Kincaid. They’re all rattlers lying under rocks. That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“The truck,” Delilah said again, and her father pursed his lips and nodded. With that she headed back to the den.
After a full day tagging after her mother, Brook’s enthusiasm for any kind of police work, not that she’d had much to begin with, had taken a serious hit. It was so boring. Sitting around, discussing who was where at what time, and there were lists of names and phone calls to be made … Initially she’d been eager to be a part of things, to tell her tale about the Kincaid lady, glad that her mother was finally listening to her. But then hours had passed and nothing had really happened, and she was flat-out tired of hanging around the station.
Sam had wanted to hear her story and so she’d told it, expecting action. But there were “considerations” and all kinds of reasons why they didn’t seem to want to piss the old lady off.
“She came out of that dress shop and ran right into me,” Brook had told him when he’d asked. “Her purse went flying and she dropped an ‘f’ bomb, I’m pretty sure. Then she acted like it was all my fault and practically knocked me over grabbing up her purse.”
“What exactly did you see in her purse?” Sam asked.
“Bottles of pills. You know, like drugs. And a gun.”
Apparently Mrs. Kincaid was known for having lots of guns, because nobody even batted an eye on that one.
“How do you know that they were drugs?” her mom had asked, looking really intense.
“I’m not a baby.”
“What happened after she ran into you?” Sam asked.
Brook was gratified that he at least recognized Mrs. Kincaid ran into her, not the other way around. “She snatched up her purse and tucked it under her arm, like she thought I was going to steal it, or something. And then she said, ‘You’re Ricki Dillinger’s girl,’ real mean-like. Or something like that, and I told her I was a Vakalian from New York. I told her she could just bite me.”
“You didn’t,” her mother warned.
Okay, maybe she hadn’t said exactly that. “Well, I told her my last name. She’s like … psycho.”
“Brook …” Her mom had sounded annoyed, and after that she and Sam had pretty much forgotten about her, which really pissed her off.
Now, she got up stiffly from the chair she’d been sitting on in Sam’s office and headed out the door to find out where they’d all gone to. As if she’d known she was looking for her, her mother was coming down the hall. “Brook, come on. We gotta go,” she urged, doing an about-face and heading for the front of the station.
“It’s about time. Where are we going?” Brook demanded, hurrying to keep up with her.
“To the lodge. Delilah was in a car accident.”
“Oh, no. She’s okay, though, right?”
“Yes. She just has a cut on her forehead.”
“What happened?”
“The Jeep’s in a ditch. Colt said someone ran her off the road.”
“Who ran her off the road?” Brook demanded, scared. When her mother didn’t answer, she declared fiercely, “I bet it’s something to do with her.” She was walking fast to keep up with her mom’s fast footsteps. “She’s awful. A total bitch. I bet she drugged Pilar with those pills and killed her. And she probably set the fire at the cottage, too. She wanted to kill me!”
“That just doesn’t make sense,” her mother muttered through her teeth as she stiff-armed the door and headed outside. Brook caught up to her and they both slammed into the truck. “Why would she do that?” her mother added. “Because you saw the drugs?”
Brook stared at her, slack-jawed. She’d been just bitching, really. It freaked her out a little that her mom was taking her so seriously. “Are you going to arrest her?”
“No. Good grief. We don’t know anything. We can’t just throw around accusations.” She yanked the seat belt over her shoulder. “But if I find out Georgina Kincaid, or anyone else, is responsible for setting our house on fire while you were in it …” She left the threat unfinished, but Brook felt a little better.
Her mom’s cell phone rang and she snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “Don’t know it,” she said, then answered anyway, “Deputy Dillinger.” As soon as she heard the voice on the other end of the line, her attention was grabbed hard.
“Who is it?” Brook asked, but her mother paid her no attention.
“That’s a real help, Mr. Griffin,” she said. “I’ll tell Sam. Thanks.”
She hung up and switched on the engine. Brook asked again, “Who was that?”
“Just part of the investigation.” They headed out of town. Her mom was lost in thought and didn’t say much for a long, long time. The light was fading as they rattled down the road that ran in front of the Kincaid and Dillinger properties. Just past the road to the old homestead they came across a Thomas Towing truck winching up the rear end of Ira’s Jeep Cherokee.
“Oh, my God …” Brook said in a hushed voice. “Mrs. Kincaid ran Aunt Delilah off the road. Her house is just back there!”
“What did I say about jumping to conclusions?”
“She tried to kill me, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Brook … stay out of this. If anyone’s going to jump to conclusions, it’s going to be me. And I’m not there yet,” she said grimly.
Hunter watched his sister stow the dress she’d been fixing onto a hanger, tugging on the hem and examining it critically. “Mom’s crazy,” Emma said to him, never taking her eyes off the dress. “She’s crazy, and Dad’s sick. The ranch is going to shit. But you know all this.”
He’d shown up at her dress shop after he’d gone back to the station and checked with Raintree who’d seen his preoccupation and asked him what he was thinking about the fires. Hunter had tried to go over everything he knew again, and he’d come to the same conclusion as before: two doers. He’d left the station, stopped in at Molly’s for a quick sandwich, had dodged questions about the fire and Pilar’s death, then had plucked out his cell to call Delilah.
She hadn’t picked up, so he’d left a fairly terse message, saying he’d call her the next day. He was annoyed with her family. Half of them blamed him for the fires. Ira, Ricki … maybe not Delilah, but it sure as hell was goddamned convenient for them to point fingers at the Kincaids.
He’d stopped by Emma’s dress shop in a dark mood, and she’d taken one look at his face and ushered him into the back room, hurriedly shooing the other employees out. “The Major?” she’d asked anxiously as soon as they were alone.
No, not really. That hadn’t been what was driving him, but their father’s health was definitely something they needed to discuss, so he’d nodded and they’d talked about his rapidly failing health for a while.
Hunter finished with, “He asked me to call Berkley Price.” He’d already told her how their father didn’t feel Georgina was capable of keeping the ranch going, which wasn’t a surprise based on the dilapidated state it was in. What he didn’t tell her was the Major’s belief that Georgina wouldn’t be fair to her own children when she was in total control.
“Why Price?” Emma asked. “He’s not the family lawyer.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”
His sister gave him a long look and said, “Something else is bothering you. What is it?”
He didn’t talk to Emma often. He certainly didn’t come to her place of work, so he got why she thought there was something else. And, well, there was something else.
“When I was at the ranch M
om guessed that I was seeing someone.”
“You are? Who?” Emma asked, a smile forming on her face.
“Delilah Dillinger.”
Emma didn’t hide her surprise. “How did that happen?”
Like everyone else, Emma had been kept in the dark about his teen love affair with Delilah. And, well, he didn’t feel like going into it now. “It just did. Mom knows and she told me I couldn’t see Delilah anymore.”
Emma half laughed. “I’m sure you listened to her.”
He snorted. “Like always.”
“Why does she care, because Delilah’s a Dillinger? I thought we were past that.”
“I thought so, too, but maybe not for her. Although she is in that oil deal with Ira.”
“What oil deal?” Hunter quickly brought her up to date with what he knew, and Emma made a clucking sound in her throat. “She doesn’t hate Ira Dillinger as much as she puts on. And the way she hated Pilar, you’d think she was a jilted lover. Wonder if she feels bad that Pilar’s dead.”
Her words twigged something in his mind. He had to search around for what it was and finally remembered. “When I saw Dad yesterday, I told him about Mom and Ira meeting about oil rights with Century Petroleum. He didn’t believe me. He said that Mom didn’t have anything to do with Ira anymore. She’s never had anything to do with Ira, as far as I know.”
Emma made a face. “Well, there are those rumors.”
“The only rumors I know are the ones about me being a firebug, and those are alive and well.”
“There’ve always been whispers about Ira and other women, Mom included. You musta heard them.”
“They’re not true. Not about Mom.”
“Well, how would you know?” Emma posed. “It was before she got with Dad, supposedly. They haven’t always been at war.”
He tried to imagine his mother with Ira Dillinger, but the picture failed to materialize. Ira had married Rachel about the same time Georgina had hooked up with the Major, and before that he was pretty sure his mother had been involved with some guy from Cheyenne.
“It just doesn’t sound right,” Hunter said.
Emma shrugged her slim shoulders. “She doesn’t want you with Delilah. Maybe it’s because she’s jealous of your relationship with a Dillinger.”
“That’s not even worth answering,” he said.
“I’m just telling you,” she said, unconcerned, never realizing she’d left Hunter with a bad feeling that followed him all the way back to his house. As he climbed out of his truck, he yanked out his cell phone. Delilah hadn’t called him back. Maybe she was upset with how long it had taken him to call her.
Grimacing, he headed into the house. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would straighten that out with Georgina and put the whole damn thing to rest. If her aversion to Delilah had something to do with Ira, he wanted to hear it.
He drove to the end of the rutted lane and then along the fence line, miles back from the Dillingers and Kincaids, toward the foothills of the mountains. He’d cut through a section of fence to make way for his vehicle and had found many other places to hide ever since the sheriff’s department had found his shed on Horseshoe Ridge where he’d kept Amber, and the cave he’d used for skinning. It hadn’t been easy, keeping ahead of them. There had been a lot of riders swarming over Dillinger and Kincaid property and beyond. He’d had to throw everything into the back of the truck and hide it beneath a blue tarp, but then, he didn’t actually stay at his chosen lairs; they were just used for his work.
The sheriff’s department’s scouting had eased up since the two fires at the Dillinger spread. The last few days they’d stayed closer to home, assuming, he suspected, that they felt he was closer in as well. All of it made it possible for him to concentrate on his next conquest.
“Delilah,” he said, savoring the syllables as he fingered the teeth in his pocket.
His cock was a flagpole as he pulled the truck into the heavy brush that he used as a blind. In the dark he removed the license plates, which were purposely covered with mud, and buried them about a quarter of a mile away. He had more in his lair, along with his tools. It was a long trek from where he felt comfortable to park to his new hideout, but he looked forward to slinging Delilah’s body over his shoulder and carrying her there. His mind swam with the thought.
But he had to be careful. He had to keep moving. If they found his lair again, he could take to other caves in the mountains, find a way back to his truck. He could live a good while without them finding him.
Delilah …
He’d wanted so badly to take her. Had slammed into her truck in a frenzy of desire. Had wanted to rip her away from that fucker, Kincaid. When he thought about her with him he felt downright sick, his stomach clenching when he pictured Kincaid’s hands sliding over her flesh. That flesh was his property. His. He could scarcely wait to slip his knife into that sweet place just below the epidermal layer, separating it from the muscle, slicing it free.
But it had been too bold a move. Before he could collect her she’d slammed on the horn. She would pay for that mistake with her lovely flesh.
Thinking about her was exquisite torture, but he indulged himself. First he would mount her like a stallion and they would make love to exhaustion. How long would that last before he took her skin? A week had seemed like an awfully long time with Amber. Too long. He’d wanted the lovemaking to last. He really had. A couple of weeks, more, but he hadn’t been able to. With Delilah it wouldn’t even be a week. Three days, he told himself. Maybe two …
God, it had to happen soon. This waiting was excruciating.
He needed a plan. A way to make her his, before he went after the rest of them. They all deserved to die, but some deaths would be more pleasurable than others.
He smiled in the darkness. They didn’t even know he existed. He was invisible to them. They ran around like ants in all directions. Couldn’t imagine who was after them. He wanted to crow to someone … Delilah. Wanted to tell her everything.
He pictured her tied up in his lair. Her hands behind her back, her legs pulled up to meet her hands so she was in a bow, arched. Her breasts and thighs straining. He would run his knife along her flesh, and then he would slide his cock into her wetness and ride her like the little whore she was. Daddy’s girl. All of them Daddy’s girls. They would do anything for Daddy’s money. But then they all had, hadn’t they?
But he would show ’em. One by one. And after she’d satisfied him he would pluck out a tooth. Just one … well, maybe two. Trophies. Only then would he begin skinning. His mind burned with the thought. Maybe he would pour water on her and freeze her like he had Amber, leave her in some public place. God. He could see the terror on their faces when they found her and wondered who would be next.
But how to get her?
Kincaid.
He ground his teeth, just thinking about the man. She was a bitch in heat around him. He’d seen them outside the Prairie Dog. If they’d been alone they would have thrown themselves into the dirt and rutted away. He’d smelled the desire on them.
If he wanted her, he just needed to get Kincaid first. He knew that. All he had to do was lure him into a trap and let Delilah know where he was.
She would come running.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Davis watched Kit saddle up, her rolled-up pack tucked behind the saddle. He didn’t like what he was seeing one bit. “It’s not safe for you to be by yourself.”
She didn’t answer, just tightened the girth and threw him a look that said she’d heard it all before and hadn’t believed it then, either.
“The animals will be fine,” he said. “We’ll sort it out later.”
“I’ll find ’em,” she said, which exasperated Davis.
They’d located several places along the fence line that divided Dillinger land from Kincaid land that had been broken out. Kincaid sheep had wandered onto Dillinger land and Dillinger cattle had taken a trip over to Kincaid property. Kit had galloped
onto the Kincaid land without a qualm, but Davis had great respect for Georgina Kincaid and her “shoot first and ask questions later” attitude.
“You don’t want to go on Kincaid land uninvited,” he warned.
“I can handle them.”
“Ira won’t like it.”
She refused to answer.
“Kit, it’s too dangerous.”
She glared at him and he knew the more he said, the less she was going to listen. He’d really thought they’d reached a new understanding, but Kit lived by her own rules. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. No, he didn’t like it one bit.
“Just wait until I can talk to Ira,” Davis said urgently, as Kit mounted Sirocco, the white and gold Arabian she preferred. When she acted like she hadn’t heard him, he said, “I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“When will you be back?”
“When I’m done.”
He almost jumped on his own horse and tagged after her, but he knew enough about her to know the more he tried to control her, the further and further she would push him away.
“Damn it all,” he muttered fiercely as she rode off. He would have to talk to Ira and maybe he should warn Georgina Kincaid, just to make sure she didn’t do something stupid. But that woman was as cold as a mountain lake in winter.
After some hard thought he put in a call to Hunter.
Ricki was pacing in front of Sam’s desk. “I think I should be the one to follow up on this,” she said for the third time, and for the third time Sam said right back, “Let Katrina go through the list again.”
She growled in frustration and threw herself into the chair opposite his desk. “I don’t know what it means anyway,” she muttered.
She’d gotten a call from Catfish Griffin, who’d been at the Buffalo Lounge the night Amber Barstow had been kidnapped. He’d been on Katrina’s call list, but then Ricki had been the one to call him the second time and ask him about the cowboy at the bar in the black hat. He hadn’t offered anything new when they’d talked, but apparently he’d thought it over some, and when he phoned Ricki back he said, “I remember his boots. The guy at the bar that night. Had him some black alligator ones. If he’s really the sick bastard yer after, he don’t deserve those boots.”