by Joanna Wayne
Not that Collette had anything against marriage. She might even take the plunge one day—just not any day soon. She liked her independence and had never met a man who’d tempted her to become a “we” instead of a “me.” But she had to admit, the bride did look ravishing and blissfully in love.
Collette had known Isabelle and her whole family for years. They went to the same church that Collette had grown up in, and Isabelle’s father had helped Collette raise a prize-winning pig back in her 4-H days. Her own father had been too busy enforcing the law and making inane rules for her and her mother to follow.
She also knew the groom and his family. Carl Knight’s dad owned the local hardware and feed store. His mother taught at the new consolidated high school. Carl was in the Marines and had worn full-dress uniform for the ceremony. He’d be shipping off for Afghanistan soon.
Even as she’d taken pictures of the couple exchanging the vows, Collette had prayed he’d return safely. She suspected many of the guests were doing the same.
She moved to another corner of the dance floor that had been set up beneath the white tent. The country band switched from a lively two-step to a romantic ballad, and Isabelle’s grandparents joined the group on the dance floor. Collette couldn’t help but smile as she got a couple of great shots of them snuggled in each other’s arms and swaying to the music.
Setting her camera on a nearby table, she checked her watch. The reception would start winding down soon, but she was sure that she had enough formal and candid shots to satisfy the bride and her family. At least she would once she captured the newlyweds leaving for their honeymoon.
“Care to dance?”
She spun around at the unfamiliar voice.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” she lied. “I just didn’t know anyone was behind me.” Stupid response considering they were beneath a rather crowded tent. She hated that the recent phone calls had made her so apprehensive that she sometimes jumped at her own shadow.
“I’m Brady Collins, friend of the groom.”
He extended his hand. A nice hand, she had to admit, attached to a slim blond guy with cobalt-blue eyes and an enticing smile. There was no spark when his hand wrapped around hers. Obviously, he was no Dylan Ledger.
“I’m Collette McGuire, the photographer.”
“I noticed. You’ve been doing a heck of a job, but I’m sure the happy couple would forgive your abandoning your post for one dance.”
“The offer is tempting, but not in my contract.”
“Ah, the prettiest woman at the reception would have to be a woman of principle.”
“Thanks,” she said, “though we both know the prettiest woman at the wedding tonight is unquestionably Isabelle.”
“Only because she has the unfair advantage of the wedding glow.”
Carl picked that moment to rescue his bride from the awkwardly energetic nephew. Collette reached for her camera. “Your friend Carl looks pretty happy himself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to get back to work.”
“Can’t blame a guy for asking.”
She didn’t, but even if she hadn’t been working, she wasn’t really interested in meeting anyone tonight. Working the wedding had helped, but the stalker’s call this afternoon had left her more nervous than usual. Not only that, but try as she might, she hadn’t been able to fully shake Dylan from her mind.
She doubted he’d call, but instead of turning her cell phone off completely as she usually did when working an affair, she’d left it on vibrate tonight. There was no rational explanation for how he’d affected her. All she knew was that she wanted to see and talk to him again.
She took a few more pictures and then stepped outside the tent, walking a few yards away for a breath of fresh air. Silvery strings of moonlight filtered through the trees, and the music that had been loud and vibrating inside the tent was softly romantic in the background.
She took out her phone and called her house, not that she had any doubts Eleanor had made herself at home once Collette had left for the wedding. Eleanor was outgoing and resourceful, no doubt part of the reason for her success as a freelance investigative reporter. And they had been friends since their first year at the University of Texas.
The phone rang until the answering machine picked up. Disappointment swelled. Eleanor must have decided to drive back to Austin instead of spending the night after all.
Ordinarily, Collette was fine going home at night to an empty house. Her stalker had infiltrated those feelings of safety, replacing them with irritating spurts of apprehension. If the calls kept up, she was going to have to break down and buy a gun or maybe get a dog. A big, ferocious-looking dog who’d bark like crazy if anyone came sneaking around the house she rented from the Callisters. Maybe she’d get both.
Mustang Run was a peaceful town, but it hadn’t totally escaped violence. She’d been reminded of that quite vividly while taking pictures inside the Ledger home today.
She wondered if a dog or a gun would have saved Dylan’s mother. Not likely if Troy Ledger was actually guilty of killing her.
Thoughts of Dylan crowded into Collette’s mind. She did her best to push them aside. She didn’t need a guy with a tortured soul in her life. But impulsively she slipped her hand into her pocket and let it slide across the leather case that held her cell phone.
The phone remained still and silent.
DYLAN TIPPED THE BOTTLE of cold beer to his lips and took a long swig. Mack’s Haven was exactly how he would have pictured a typical small-town Texas bar. Smoky. Loud. Friendly. A down-home kind of place. A worn wooden sign pronounced, “No Dancing on the bar with your spurs on.”
Smoky and loud didn’t bother Dylan. Nor did the sign, since he not only didn’t own a pair of spurs, he had no plans for dancing on the bar. Neither was anyone else at the present time, though the cozy dance floor was crowded.
The friendly part of the equation was the drawback. Far too many of the patrons had felt it their duty to introduce themselves and make the stranger welcome.
Dylan probably came across as antisocial, but explaining who he was would have led to questions he couldn’t answer about his return to Mustang Run. So far he’d managed to give only a first name and resist the invitations to dance by a couple of affable young women. Another beer and he might not be so inclined.
He hadn’t planned to end up here tonight, but when the musky memories from the day his mother had been killed began to pound inside his skull, he’d spotted the bar and seen it as a temporary escape.
The buxom blonde waitress in a seductive cotton T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts returned to his table. “Want another of the same?”
“Better not.” He pulled out his wallet. “What do I owe you?”
“Two beers—ten dollars and eighty cents.”
He gave her a ten and a five.
“Thanks.” She took the money but didn’t walk away as he stood to leave.
“Are you new to the area or just passing through?”
“Most likely passing through. You take care,” he said and walked away before she followed up with another question.
He climbed in his truck, revved the engine and started back to the ranch, slowing as he passed the house he’d already identified as the one in which Collette McGuire lived. Lights were on. She was still up, though not necessarily alone.
Still, she had said stop by anytime.
He pulled in the driveway and kept his truck running. There was no sign of Collette’s Jeep, but she could have parked it in the garage.
He wondered what the hell he was thinking driving up to somebody’s house this time of the night. Not to mention that he’d be opening himself up to a barrage of intrusive questions.
He should turn the truck around right now before Collette spotted him. But the dread of going back to the ranch tonight got all mixed up with the crazy desire to see Collette again. She’d been easy to talk to, almost like running into an
old friend in the midst of an enemy camp.
He shut off the car and, just as he killed the lights, he caught a glimpse of movement behind the house. It could have been a large dog or possibly a deer, but it had sure looked like a person. He turned the headlights on again, but whatever it was had disappeared into the trees and shadows.
An owl hooted in the distance as he got out of the truck and walked the uneven concrete path to the steps. Light from inside the house gave a soft glow to the wide porch.
Pots of blooming flowers lined the three steps. A swing half-filled with colorful pillows hung at one end of the porch. Two white rocking chairs and more potted plants lined the other side.
The house looked as if it should belong to a family, not a feisty, single professional like Collette. He hesitated before he knocked, listening for voices. The house was silent. He rang the doorbell and waited. No response. Either she wasn’t home or didn’t want to see him.
Still, he couldn’t quite dismiss the figure he’d thought he’d seen running from the house. That left him with an uneasy feeling, and he’d learned it was always best to trust his instincts for danger. One of his commanding officers had claimed that Dylan sniffed out trouble the way a bomb dog trailed the scent of explosives.
His muscles tensed and he hammered his fist against the door. “Collette? Are you in there?”
He called her name again as he turned the knob and the door swung open. He stepped inside. The foyer opened into a dimly lit living room. The illumination came from a lamp and a cluster of candles resting in a copper dish. Magazines were scattered about the sofa, and a glass of wine sat on the coffee table. Nothing was amiss.
“Collette?” he called again. “It’s Dylan Ledger. Are you here?”
His call went unanswered.
Lights were on in the back of the house, but all was quiet. He started down the hall. And then he saw the blood. Just a trickle, creeping past an open doorway ahead of him. Curses and panic rattled his skull as he followed the crimson trail into the kitchen.
And to the body lying face down in the middle of the floor.
Chapter Four
The body was not Collette’s. Relief merged with dread as Dylan studied the scene.
The victim was fully clothed in jeans and a UT T-shirt. Blood oozed from a cut on the back of the head. A golf-ball-size knot had swelled around it. The blood that spilled across the floor came from a stab wound to the woman’s right shoulder, but the bleeding that must have spurted at first had all but stopped.
A bloodied knife lay a few feet from the body. A small skillet stood on its edge against a table leg.
Dylan knelt to check for a pulse. It was rapid, but weak. Her skin lacked the clamminess and paleness that indicated shock, but other than the uneven and shallow rise and fall of her back, she wasn’t moving or responding.
Afraid to chance compounding her injuries or starting the bleeding all over again, he left her on her stomach as he took out his phone and called 911. Thankfully, telling the 911 operator to send an ambulance and law enforcement to the old Callister place near the Mustang Run Baptist Church was all the address he needed to give.
“You’re okay,” Dylan whispered as he covered her with a checkered cloth he’d yanked from the table. “I’ve called for an ambulance.”
She wasn’t worried. She was out cold.
Possibilities raced through his mind. Had that been her attacker Dylan had seen running from the scene? Or could the killer still be in the house? He might even be holding Collette hostage.
Dylan struggled to stay calm so that he could weigh the options. He should have paid more attention when Collette had talked of the lowlife who was harassing her. He should have asked questions. Should have…
Hindsight. Always 20/20 and totally worthless.
Muscles tense and hard as stone, he stepped to the counter and took a clean knife from the block.
Leaving the kitchen, he explored the rest of the house, room by room. There were two bedrooms, two baths and a small, uncluttered office. One of the bedrooms had clothes spilling from an open piece of luggage. The other was neat except that the yellow shirt Collette had been wearing today was draped over a wooden rocker.
There was no more blood and no sign of Collette. He went back to the kitchen and checked on the victim. She was still breathing, but still out.
He heard the hum of a motor and the crunch of tires as a vehicle pulled onto the driveway, the same way the attacker must have heard him when he drove up.
Dylan rushed to the front door and spotted Collette exiting her Jeep. Alone and safe. Suddenly his body felt as if he’d been released from a killing chokehold.
He opened the door and waited for her.
“Dylan. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I took you up on your invitation to stop by anytime.”
“Eleanor must have let you in. I was afraid she’d gone home when she didn’t answer the phone. I guess she told you I was working a wedding tonight.”
“I haven’t talked to Eleanor.”
“Then who let you in?”
There was no good way to tell her this. “There’s a problem, Collette.”
A siren sounded in the distance.
“What kind of problem?”
“An attack.”
“On whom?” Her eyes widened. “Where’s Eleanor?”
“In the kitchen. She’s hurt. I’ve called an ambulance. They should be—”
Collette bolted toward the kitchen. He followed her, feeling helpless when she went ghostly white and fell to her knees beside her friend.
“Eleanor. Eleanor, say something. Who did this to you? Talk to me. Please talk to me.”
“I’ve called 911.” As the wail of the sirens grew louder, Dylan knelt beside her and explained what he knew and how he’d come to find the body.
She shuddered and leaned against him. He put his arm across her shoulders, feeling awkward. He’d never handled emotion well.
She pulled away as the ambulance stopped in front of the house and a rush of footsteps sounded on her front porch. “It was him, Dylan.”
“Who?”
Her eyes were moist, but her tone was harsh and accusing. “The man who keeps calling me. He must have come here looking for me, but he found Eleanor instead.”
“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions.” He stood and tugged her to her feet as the room filled with paramedics. By the time they had Eleanor inside the ambulance, more sirens sounded and two squad cars arrived on the scene.
Four armed men in khaki uniforms got out. Two of the deputies had guns pulled, both aimed at Dylan. For the first time, it hit him that he’d put himself into a very compromising position.
The oldest uniformed man glared at him before stepping between him and Collette. “What happened here?”
“My friend Eleanor was spending the night with me. Someone broke in and attacked her while I was photographing Isabelle Smith’s wedding. She was hit at least once on the head and stabbed with one of my kitchen knives. The ambulance just left. They’re taking her to the hospital.”
“Did she name her attacker?”
“She was unconscious. She’ll be afraid when she comes to. I need to go to the hospital so that I can be with her.”
“You’ll need to answer a few questions first.”
Dylan stepped forward. “I’m the one who found the body. I can probably tell you more about the situation than Collette can.”
The man turned toward him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Dylan Ledger.”
The lawman rested his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “And I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire, so you better have a damn good explanation for what you’re doing in my daughter’s house.”
COLLETTE CRINGED at her father’s reaction to Dylan. Could he for once just listen to the facts before going off half-cocked?
“Dylan is here because I invited him here.”
“I hope you have a hell of a good reason for doing somet
hing that stupid.”
“Did you ever think that he might have saved Eleanor’s life by arriving when he did? He may have saved mine, as well.”
“Right now I’m thinking how the Ledgers are back in town one day and we already have a brutal attack. What’s Eleanor’s last name?”
“Baker. Eleanor Baker. You’ve met her before, Dad. She visited our house frequently when we were in college.”
The sheriff rubbed his chin. “Eleanor? Isn’t that the reporter who writes about ghosts?”
“Yes.”
“I warned you about hanging out with the likes of her and Melinda Kingston. Kooks attract other kooks. One day you’re gonna start listening to me.”
Dylan walked over to stand next to Collette and slipped a hand to the small of her back. “You might want to cut Collette some slack, Sheriff. It’s rough enough that her friend was attacked.”
“I don’t need advice from the offspring of a murdering son of a bitch.” He turned back to Collette. “Do you know of anyone who had it in for her?”
Collette took a deep breath. “I don’t think she was the intended victim. I think the man was here because of me.”
His brows arched. “Why would anyone want to hurt you?”
“I’m not sure that’s what he intended, but some man has been calling and harassing me over the past few months. He claims to be in love with me, but I don’t even know him.”
The sheriff glared at Collette. “You’ve been stalked by a psycho for months and you never bothered to mention it to me?”
“He never threatened to hurt me.”
She couldn’t tell if it was anger or frustration that pulled her father’s face into deep lines and caused the veins in his face and neck to pop out.
“I should have told you,” she said, “but you’ve told me before that there’s not much you can do if there’s no threat of violence.”
“Did you at least change your phone number when he started calling?”
“I couldn’t very well do that. My cell is the only number clients have to reach me. It’s on my business cards and my Web site.”