“Aw, come on, Kaylee, doan cry.” He reached out an expensively manicured fingertip to brush away the tears that sheer terror had sent spilling over. “Hey, it’s not like I’m gonna do it right here or nuthin’.”
How comforting. She sucked in a deep breath and clamped a lid on her emotions. Exhaling softly, she looked him squarely in the eye. “The bounty hunter is not going to just sit by and let you waltz me out the door, Chains.”
“I know, but I got a plan for that. The door to the kitchen’s just across the hall. I’m gonna take you out through there.” He gave her a big dumb smile. “Pretty smart, huh?”
“Yes,” she agreed through tight vocal cords. “Very smart.” Her heart felt as though it were trying to beat its way out of her chest.
He reached out his non-gun-toting hand and gave her arm a little thump of approval. “I always liked you, Kaylee.”
“I, uh, always liked you, too.”
“I’m real sorry it’s come down to this. But I gotta do what the boss man says. He’s a really smart guy, you know.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. But you’re smarter, Jimmy.”
He beamed. “Ya think so?”
“Oh, yeah. Just ask”—oh, God, what was Kaylee’s guy’s name again?—“uh, Bobby! Sure, ask Bobby. I’ve said as much to him many a time.”
He looked guilty for a minute, but before she could begin to figure out why, his expression had smoothed out. He shook his head. “Nah, that’s mighty nice of you to say so, but I really ain’t that smart. Hector, he’s the one.”
Catherine edged a little farther down the counter. “Oh, I think you seriously underestimate yourself.”
“Well, I am a snappy dresser.”
Catherine felt her jaw sag, which Chains must have seen, for he rushed to say, “Oh, not this sorry getup—this here’s just my cowboy disguise. But—you know—ordinarily and all.”
“Um, right. Right! Can’t argue with that.” Said Alice down the rabbit hole.
The door swung open just then and several women barreled through the opening, chatting noisily. Chains whipped his gun down to his side where it was hidden from view, and Catherine, taking advantage of the sudden confusion, pushed through the knot of women and out into the hall.
“Hey!” she heard one of them say edgily as they undoubtedly caught sight of Chains. “What do you think you’re doing in here? Were you bothering that woman? Why, I have half a mind to call the cops!”
Catherine spared the swinging kitchen door across the hall a single tempted glance, then ran past it. It made her feel unobservant that Chains had plotted a halfway intelligent escape route when she hadn’t even noticed the darn thing, but this was clearly not the time to be on her own. For once she was going to do her utmost to stay in Sam’s company. At least he had a gun, which was more than she possessed in the way of protection. She burst out of the hall into the main body of the cafe.
Catherine skidded to a halt at the table, where McKade had been brought to his feet by her rather dramatic entrance. She grabbed him by the biceps, sheer will alone stopping her from hurling herself into the protection of his brawny arms. “McKade, my God, you’re never gonna believe—”
Sam felt the muscles she clutched grow hot and rigid as he scowled down at her. He was tired of this constant lust that boiled just beneath his surface. Her meagerest touch brought it to the fore, and the renewed knowledge made him strike out blindly. “What the hell took you so long, MacPherson? It’s a goddam ladies’ room, so for once it can’t have involved an impressionable male. Unless—no, wait, don’t tell me—some guy forced his way into the ladies’ room, held a gun to your head, and said, ‘Show me your feathers and G-string, baby.’” He glowered down into her huge green eyes, which had gone blank with shock at his attack. He knew he should leave it alone then, but couldn’t seem to stop himself from continuing, “To which, of course, you replied”—his voice went falsetto—” ‘Why, sugar, you don’t need a gun for me to take off my clothes.’ “
“You son of a bitch.” The story of Chains dammed up in Catherine’s throat. What point was there in telling him now? McKade wasn’t going to believe her; he considered her a congenital liar. Oh, and a slut, too, she mustn’t forget, but first and foremost a liar. She tugged on the biceps still beneath her hands. All she wanted now was to get out of here before Jimmy Chains with his very big gun hunted her down. “Let’s hit the road, McKade.”
Sam stood his ground. Taking in her suddenly pale face, he felt a belated flash of remorse for his crack. Hell, who Red was, or what she did with her life, had nothing to do with him after all.
Then he shrugged the guilt aside. She’d live. The important thing, thinking back, was the realization that she’d been on the verge of telling him something before he’d jumped all over her. There had been an element both edgy and excitable in her tone. “What’s going on?”
“Not a damn thing you’d be interested in. I’m ready to go back to the bus is all. Let’s move.”
Black eyelashes narrowed over his golden brown eyes. “What the hell are you up to now?”
“Three minutes, folks,” the bus driver called.
She tugged on his arm with the one hand and smacked him on the opposite shoulder with the other. “Excuse me? What am I up to now? Man, you’re so suspicious all the time. You gotta kick back, McKade, alleviate some of that stress. You might even want to try doing it in a manner that doesn’t involve trashing me,” she added with an equanimity that was pretty damn commendable, if she did say so herself. The way her heart was racing, she feared congestive failure might bring it to a screeching halt in a moment. She glanced over her shoulder, but Chains hadn’t appeared yet. Turning back to Sam, she gave his arm an encouraging tug. “So, let’s go then, huh? Here, give me my purse.”
Sam handed it over, but it was clear he still suspected her motives. Well, the hell with him. Catherine didn’t give a rip what he thought, as long as he moved.
He finally did, but Catherine could practically feel his chivalrous impulses kicking into gear as they passed an elderly woman at the cash register who seemed to be in some sort of distress. Catherine took a firm hold of Sam’s arm and steered him around her. “Don’t even think about it, bud. Not today. Somebody else is going to have to play guardian angel to the Golden Girls of Greyhound for a change.”
He looked down to where she hugged his arm to the side of her breast. The heat was enough to burn a hole through his biceps. “What’s with you?” He scowled at the blank innocence in the big green eyes she turned up to him. “I know you’re up to something, Red—I just can’t figure out what the hell it is.”
Tell him! Catherine’s conscience screamed. He’s got a gun, he can protect you—tell him!
But she didn’t. She was still reeling from the knowledge that she had just narrowly escaped being dragged from the restaurant to her death, and she wanted to put as much distance between herself and Jimmy Chains as possible. If she sicced Sam on the man, God alone knew what might happen.
Supposing she could get McKade to believe her in the first place, which was a mighty big if.
And even if she did somehow win his belief, what if Chains shot McKade before McKade could get a handle on the situation? Then where would she be? Right now, following this blind urge to get herself miles down the road beyond a killer’s reach was extremely compelling.
Stepping outside was like walking directly into a blast furnace. She’d almost become acclimated to the stifling heat of the diner, but this was something else again. The air was viscous and hot, and it was difficult to draw enough of it into her lungs to satisfy the need for oxygen. Luckily she had released her grip on Sam’s arm the moment she’d safely navigated him beyond the little old lady, for the temperature was wilting, draining, and combining another person’s body heat beneath the relentless glare of the sun would have been intolerable. As it was, Catherine felt her dress adhere damply to every inch of skin as she picked her way carefully across seams of tar t
hat had softened along the blacktop. The adrenaline of her confrontation with Chains abruptly dissipated and it took massive effort simply to cross the short expanse of parking lot.
The bus, by contrast, was wonderfully cool, and she sank down into her seat with relief. It was foolish to feel safe just because a layer of steel and tinted glass separated her from the threat of Chains, but nevertheless she experienced a sense of comfort. Which indicated to her that she needed to think. She had to pull herself together and think, because unless she could convince Sam she’d been threatened, she was on her own.
She stared out the window, keeping a close watch on the diner’s front door. The other passengers boarded the bus and settled into their seats, the driver climbed on board, closed the front door with a pneumatic whoosh, and started up the bus. Chains did not appear.
Sam touched her arm. “What the hell are you searching for, anyway?”
Catherine snatched her arm beyond his reach, her entire body jerking away in repudiation of his touch. The strength of the bitterness that surged through her caught her by surprise. Turning to look at him as the bus finally pulled away from the café, she said incredulously, “You’ve made it more than evident you think I’m nothing but a lying slut. Why the hell would I bother confiding anything to you even if I had a problem?”
As far as Sam was concerned, she’d gotten in more than her fair share of licks this trip, so he refused to feel ashamed of his behavior. He gave her an insolent once-over. “Because I’m all you’ve got, Red.”
A crack of what might have passed for laughter exploded sharply out of Catherine’s throat. Her head fell back against the headrest, and she shook it slowly from side to side as she stared up at the ceiling. “Then God help us all.”
Jimmy Chains had fled the lynch mob in the ladies’ room by bulling his way past the angry skirts and escaping through the kitchen. His first inclination, when he heard the bus pull out of the lot out front, was to jump in his rental car and follow it. But Kaylee had said he was smart, and he’d noticed over the years that smart people usually stopped and thought about the stuff they did instead of just jumping right in and doing it.
So he tried that. He stopped and thought about it. And it occurred to him that sooner or later someone would probably take notice if his car was forever trailing along in the bus’s wake.
But how else was he supposed to know where to hook up with Kaylee again if he couldn’t follow the bus? He supposed he could always call the boss to get his opinion, but at the moment that seemed like a piss-poor idea.
He stopped and thought about it some more. Then he walked around to the front of the café and let himself in the front door.
It was quiet after the rush, and he chose to make his inquiry from one of the teenagers busing the tables. “Hey,” he said, walking up to a young woman with a long brown ponytail. She unloaded the industrial-grade crockery from the table to her wheeled cart, wiped her hands on the grubby white apron tied over her jeans, and looked up at him.
“I’m, uh, not sure how I missed connecting up here with my sister like I was s’posta, but somehow I did,” he improvised. “I wonder if you could tell me where the bus’ll stop next.”
“I’m not sure about all the stops,” she replied, leaning forward to wipe down the table, “but I know dinner’s at the Diamondback in Laramie.”
“Thanks, kid. Appreciate it. Here.” He thrust out a twenty. “Buy yourself somethin’ nice.”
“Wow.” The teenager stared down at the bill in her hand. Then she took her eyes off her work for the first time to grin up at him. “Thanks, mister.”
He felt pretty damn good. Kaylee was right; he was smart. And being an intelligent kinda guy, he decided that now might be a good time to get out of town. He’d just as soon not be around when Bobby was discovered in the refrigerator shed. He left the café and walked straight to his rental car. Having already checked out of the motel, he climbed in and started it up. Then he sat for a moment, waiting for the air conditioner to catch up with the built-up heat.
When the temperature had reached a tolerable level, he put the car in gear and cruised out of the lot. He drove with caution up the main highway to the interstate.
Then he put the pedal to the metal and pointed the hood ornament toward Laramie.
14
BEFORE KAYLEE HEARD the rumble of Catherine’s bus starting up, she’d divided her time between keeping a watch on the café parking lot where the vehicle was parked and admiring the fine new paint job on her nails. The Curl Up and Dye might be located in Back of Beyond, USA, but its owner knew manicures. Kaylee’s fingernails hadn’t looked this hot in a gator’s age.
It had been an unexpectedly great hour. Maydeen, owner and head cosmetologist of the C U & D, was Kaylee’s kind of stylist. They’d talked fashion, they’d talked men, and Kaylee felt she’d found a regular soul sister when they discovered they even watched the same soap opera. The relationship was cemented when Maydeen emphatically agreed with her that the pregnancy-of-not-quite-twin-babies-from-two-different-fathers, which had been a featured story a couple years ago, was to this date still the main contender for the weakest plot line in history award. Upon the arrival of Maydeen’s 1:45 appointment, Kaylee had moved over to the window to keep a watch for Bobby. She had nevertheless continued to hold up her share of the conversation.
Then the bus had pulled away from the parking lot down the street, heading for the interstate, and she’d gotten down to business. She’d peered through the miniblinds covering the plate-glass window and waited expectantly for her first sight of Bobby and Catherine.
And she’d waited.
And waited.
“Dammit, Bobby.” She pressed her nose closer to the blinds. “This had better not be a payback for one harmless little joke.”
“You say somethin’, hon?” Maydeen looked up from her shampoo.
“Yeah. Damn men.”
“Uh-oh. Boyfriend late picking you up?”
“Yes, dammit.” Kaylee spared a glance from her vigil at the window to look back into the main body of the shop. “What do we see in them, anyway, Maydeen? It’s not like we can live with the creatures…”
“And the law don’t allow us to castrate ’em,” the cosmetologist agreed, then heaved a commiserative sigh. “I hear that, girlfriend.”
“Actually, I’m afraid that might be part of the problem, right there,” Kaylee admitted, speaking over her shoulder but keeping her attention on the view out the window. “Just before he dropped me off, I, um, evoked the dread name of Lorena Bobbit.”
“Oops. Men do seem to lose all sense of humor when it comes to that woman, don’t they? And her such an artiste with a knife and all.”
But Kaylee had stopped listening. Her attention was riveted on a man walking from the back of the café to the establishment’s front door. She felt her hands go cold and knew it owed nothing to the salon’s air-conditioning.
She knew that walk. And she was positive those intermittent flashes, set off by the noonday sun, came from the gleam of gold.
It was Jimmy Chains.
Oh, shit. She drew back with involuntary skittishness even though he’d already disappeared into the café and couldn’t possibly see her standing behind the tilted blinds inside the Curl Up and Dye. And that was supposing the man had even known to look for her there in the first place.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. That brought up a whole new question she didn’t even want to think about. Did he know to look for her? Oh, Jaysus Jean, where is Bobby?
Chains’s presence in this small Wyoming town added brand-new immediacy to the question.
Chains came back out the diner’s front door a short while later, and once again Kaylee jerked back in pure reflex. Shifting to keep him in view, she watched him cross the lot to the motel, where he climbed into a silver sedan. Her heart did a flip. Holy mama, had he had a room there last night, too? It was a flaming wonder they hadn’t bumped into each other.
God, pl
ease let Bobby and Catherine be all right, she prayed.
Kaylee headed for the door the moment Chains drove from view. She was nearly through it before she remembered to call, “So long, Maydeen. I’m taking off now.”
“Your boyfriend here, hon?” Maydeen fastened the perm rod she was rolling and straightened, one fist going to the small of her back as she stretched out her spine. “That’s one guy I sure wouldn’t mind getting a peek at.”
Kaylee forced a casual smile. “The bum didn’t show. I guess I’ll meet up with him at the motel.” Or so she fervently hoped. Please, please, let him just be lying low. “Thanks for the nail job. It’s one of the best I’ve ever had.”
The stylist patted the pocket where Kaylee’s healthy tip resided. “My pleasure, hon.”
Kaylee broke into an awkward trot the instant the door closed behind her back. By the time she reached the motel room, her cleavage was awash in perspiration.
“Bobby,” she called softly as soon as she let herself into the dim room. “You in here? Cat?”
Neither the dingy room nor its tiny, cramped bathroom was occupied.
“Jaysus, Jaysus.” She sank onto the side of the bed. Arms hugging her waist, she bent low over her knees, rocking back and forth. Where was he? Had Chains gotten hold of him? Oh, please, let that not be the case. Sucking in a deep breath, she held it, blew it out, and forced herself to sit up straight. She had to think. She had to think like Catherine would, and work this thing through.
Kaylee sent a prayer winging heavenward that Chains had not gotten his hands on Cat, either. She’d never be able to live with herself if he had.
She inhaled another breath and forcefully exhaled it. She shook out her hands. For just a second, her attention was snagged by the beauty of her manicure, but then she fisted her hands, buried them in her lap, and focused on a dreary wall across the room. Okay, now. Think.
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