Shot Through the Heart (Crimson Romance)

by D'Ann Lindun

  Chapter Seven

  Lawrence locked his office door behind him, tossed his white Stetson on the chair, and ran a hand through his collar-length hair. He needed a cut and a shave. Good. His rough appearance would only add credence to his story. Right now, he had to put on the concerned husband face. Pretend he gave a damn about where his faithless wife had gone.

  But first, he needed a hit.

  Double-checking that his door was locked, he moved his file cabinet and took the small brown vial from behind it. Holding it up to the light, he frowned. Hadn’t this been full just a day or two ago? Now it was nearly empty. Had someone found it and used? No, that was stupid. No one knew about his secret stash.

  He held the container close and moved to his desk.

  First, he laid down a small mirror he kept in his bottom drawer under some files. Taking a tiny spoon out of his front pants pocket, he scooped out two fine lines of white powder onto the reflection. Then he chopped the powder with a razor blade he kept taped inside one of the file folders. Finally, he rolled a dollar bill and lowered it to the coke.

  Almost instantly, his skin felt like a million ants crawling over it, his nose tingled, and a feeling of such power rushed over him he felt invincible. He was going to get away with the perfect crime. No one would ever suspect him of doing in his own wife and sister. Even if someone had an idea of him of having some small involvement, he was too smart to get caught.

  Most of his life he’d been a straight shooter. Occasionally, he had a few drinks with the guys, but as an athlete he didn’t want to mess up his game. But once high school football ended, so did his need to stay clean. He’d smoked a few joints with the guys, then tried speed, but it was coke that turned him on like nothing else. After the shooting that left him craving Vicodin, he turned to coke.

  Julie argued endlessly that as a cop, he had to be some kind of role model. He choked back laughter. What a joke. If the community knew half the things he did, they’d die of shock. Many so-called upstanding citizens pulled illegal acts. It’d make everyone’s head spin if word ever got out the bank president was sleeping with the school superintendent. Not illegal, but considering they were both married … Then there was Ed Jarvis, the DA, who fixed cases for his cronies.

  Nobody had the right to look down on Lawrence Porter.

  He stuffed his mirror, spoon, and coke in their hiding place, then began to pace. One of the things he loved most about getting high was the unbelievable energy it gave him. He could jump to the moon; he could lift mountains. Best of all, he could talk his way out of anything. Feeling much better than when he’d come in, he unlocked the door. “Penny,” he bellowed, “come here.”

  His secretary hustled to his door. “Yes, boss?”

  “I’m going out for a while. Julie and Laramie went to Denver for a few days, and I promised Laramie I’d take care of her animals.” He poured coffee from a pot on a corner table into a travel mug. “If any calls come in, you can reach me on my cell.”

  Penny nodded, her eyes hound-dog sad. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Just keep me posted if anything comes up. Unless it’s urgent, have Gabe take care of it.” He sipped the bitter brew. “And, for pity’s sake, make some decent coffee.” He slammed his hat on his head.

  “Yes, boss.” Penny held her folders close to her chest as he squeezed by.

  Lawrence smirked as he drove away from his office. Stupid woman. He’d swing by Laramie’s, feed the animals, and take a look around to make sure all evidence from the night before last was cleaned up. He glanced at the Big Misty and smiled grimly. The smoke wasn’t visible from this side of the mountain. Good. By the time someone spotted the flames, the bodies would be charred beyond recognition.

  Turning into Laramie’s driveway, he noticed a tremor in his hands. Shit, the length of time he needed between hits grew shorter by the day. He’d snort a couple of lines while he was out here where no one was likely to come snooping around. He opened the glove-box to make sure his little vial of white powder was still safe and sound. Yep, there it was, hidden behind the back wall of the console.

  He parked beside the house, where the old weeping willows sheltered him from prying eyes, and climbed out of the truck. Laramie’s two Australian shepherds tore around the corner of the barn, barking like hounds from hell. He aimed a kick at the male, who easily dodged his clumsy effort. “Shut up unless you want to be locked up again.”

  Although he told Laramie he’d taken care of the dogs, he actually gave them a little something that knocked them out, and left them in one of the empty horse stalls. He’d let them out when he returned with the horses. Not because he had any love for the spoiled mutts, but because keeping them alive was easier than figuring out how to explain their absence.

  The bitch growled, then backed away. The male continued to stare him down with strange blue eyes, but Lawrence knew the fleabags wouldn’t bother him anymore. Laramie had spent hours training those mutts; they would obey her slightest hand signal. And because they were so well trained, they would mind him, too. Ignoring the skulking Aussies, he went to the front door.

  For a minute, he stood on the porch and looked around. In the daylight, everything looked serene. A mild breeze stirred the leaves on the trees and the scent of Laramie’s rose garden reached his nose. She wouldn’t be smelling any flowers any more. Turning, he studied the front door. Everything looked the same as when he left it.

  He put the door back on the hinges and stepped inside. Nothing looked out of place except Julie’s suitcase still sitting in the hallway. A radio played country music. Grabbing her luggage, he hurried out to his SUV and stuck it in the backseat. He checked the spare bedroom, but Julie hadn’t unpacked any of her cosmetics or toiletries.

  Moving to Laramie’s bedroom, with quick, efficient movements he rummaged through her clothes, grabbed a few cosmetics and threw everything in a bag. Making sure he got it all, he stowed it in his vehicle. Back inside, he straightened a recliner in the living room, closed the back door, and wiped up soda spilled on the counter. Satisfied no one would suspect a chase through here, he went to the barn and checked the horses.

  When he entered the cool, dark interior, the trio nickered at him, expecting their breakfast. Laramie followed the cowboy code to the letter — horses first. Ever since they’d been kids, Laramie loved horses and always planned to make a career of working with them. Lawrence had never been fond of the big beasts. When he went to run a hand down the palomino’s side, the horse shied away. “Son of a bitch,” Lawrence hissed, “you idiot.”

  Cornering the buckskin, he managed to examine it closely for any sign of use, but the animal’s hair lay smoothly, showing no sweat marks. Apparently, the horses had rolled in their straw beds. He opened the stall doors and let the horses gallop out to the pasture. They’d be fine there, plus he wouldn’t have to come by every day to feed them.

  Satisfied, he looked around.

  He’d stored the tack exactly where he found it, no worries there.

  Already the bloody spot where Julie’s head landed had dried. But a sharp eye might notice the dark area in the sand. Grabbing a shovel out of the tack room, he scooped up the offending flooring and threw it in the muck pile behind the barn. Then he raked the alleyway smooth and walked over it a couple of times, glad for once Laramie’s dogs shadowed his heels. Their paw prints made the barn floor look normal.

  He put the tools away, his craving growing so badly he could barely concentrate.

  He needed a hit.

  Reaching into the glove-box, his fingers curling around his prize, a trail of dust rose from the road and alerted him someone was on the way. Closing the glove-box, he tried to look nonchalant and waited to see who it was.

  A dusty red pickup pulled into the drive and stopped. A kid, around seventeen or eighteen, stepped out and slammed the door behind him. The Aussies raced over and jumped on the kid, slobbering all over him. With a laugh, he signaled the dogs down. Both instantly dropp
ed.

  “Hi.” The kid, who Lawrence vaguely recognized, spoke. “Is Laramie around? I’m supposed to mow her lawn today.”

  “She went away for a few days with my wife. Didn’t Laramie tell you she was going out of town?” Lawrence hoped he sounded surprised.

  A puzzled frown marked the kid’s face. “No. I just talked to her the day before yesterday. She asked me to mow because she was behind on it.” He shrugged. “I’m sure she told me today.”

  “It was kind of a sudden thing,” Lawrence said. He pointed at the dogs. “As a matter of fact, I’m out here to feed her animals.”

  “Well then, I guess I’ll go.” The kid sounded a little disgusted as he turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Lawrence made a quick decision. “Why don’t you go ahead and mow the lawn? I’ll pay you today and settle with Laramie when she gets back.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.” Better to keep the kid happy than have him stir up gossip around town. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Joe Parker.”

  “That’s right. I remember now.” Lawrence recognized him now. Joe Parker, pride of Cliffside. Current class A Colorado State wrestling champion, middleweight division. Lawrence sniffed. His nose was running. He reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped his nose. When he pulled it away, blood stained the material.

  “You okay?” Joe asked.

  Lawrence waved him away. “Fine. Fine. It’s just a bloody nose. Been so dry this year.”

  “Yeah,” Joe agreed. “I got them a lot in wrestling practice this year.”

  “I’ll just go inside and clean up.” Lawrence headed toward Laramie’s house, Joe hot on his heels. Why was the kid following him? “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m going to get a Coke,” Joe said. “Laramie always lets me help myself to her fridge.”

  Lawrence shot a look at him. Did he mean anything by his reference to coke? The kid looked innocent as an angel with his buzzed blond hair and blue eyes. Arm muscles rippled under a loose tank, and his thighs bulged against tight jeans. If he did do drugs, it was probably steroids. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said and headed straight for the kitchen when Lawrence let them inside.

  For a minute, Lawrence’s heart stopped. Had he cleaned everything? When he heard the fridge open, he relaxed. In the downstairs bathroom, Lawrence turned on the cold water and dipped his head so that it ran over his nose. Trying not to drown, he managed to get the blood to stop.

  When he came out, Joe stood in the living room holding a six-pack of cola and piece of paper. “This was on the fridge. Laramie has an appointment with Clive Reeves later today. Weird she took off when he’s finally coming around. She told me he’s a big deal to her. Said she might make a lot of money if she did a good job for him.”

  Lawrence took the paper from Joe and read Laramie’s scrawling note to herself. Clive Reeves, one o’clock. A retired country music recording artist, Clive had a large ranch with a herd of expensive Arabian horses. Lawrence knew Laramie had been trying to get him to try her services for a long time. As an equine chiropractor, most people thought her profession akin to witch doctoring. Slowly, though, she had been building her reputation, and her client list.

  He stared at the paper and tried to think.

  Already, one person was suspicious of Laramie’s sudden disappearance. This wouldn’t help. No matter now. He took the note from Joe’s hand. “I’ll let Clive know.”

  Joe drank from a cold bottle of soda. “Whatever. I got to get busy. I have two other jobs today.”

  “Oh, yeah? For who?” Lawrence ordinarily couldn’t care less, but he wondered to whom Joe planned on spreading Laramie’s disappearing act.

  “Mrs. Potts and Mrs. Akers.”

  Lawrence held in a groan of dismay. At a spry eighty-two, Mrs. Potts was Cliffside’s fountain of gossip. If there was a tidbit to be known, she had the dirt, all on good faith. Beverly Akers worked at the café, and she, too, loved to talk. If he wanted the entire town to know that Laramie and Julie were gone, he couldn’t have picked two better women to tell. By sundown, the entire community would be buzzing with the news.

  That’s just the way small towns worked; a lack of enough excitement made the smallest things interesting.

  Mustering a smile, Lawrence said, “Well, tell the ladies hi. I better get on over to Clive’s place and let him know Laramie won’t be making it today. You set on soda? I’m going to lock the door.”

  “Sure,” Joe said, already lifting his mower out of the truck bed.

  Ignoring the dogs, Lawrence climbed in his SUV and headed it toward Clive Reeves’ place. He smiled. Clive lived way out toward the county limits. Taking the short way to his place from Laramie’s would give Lawrence a perfect opportunity to see if the fire was still burning.

  • • •

  Winding along the river lined with quakie trees, Lawrence’s thoughts raced. His skin itched, and he craved more coke. Laramie and Julie’s absence should be easy to explain, but already things were getting messy. When enough people knew the girls were gone, they would start asking when they’d be back. Lawrence had to come up with a plausible story why they extended their visit to Denver.

  He snapped his fingers.

  Of course!

  He would just tell people his sister and wife had gone to stay with his parents for a while. Most people remembered Jim and Kaycee Porter from when they lived here. A bad tractor accident had made Jim an invalid, and he and his wife made their life in Denver, close to doctors and specialists. Before they left, the couple turned over their farmhouse and land to Laramie.

  The story would be even more believable if Lawrence stressed how badly Jim’s health had deteriorated. No one would be the wiser. Even Clive Reeves would have to be sympathetic to a concerned daughter rushing to her failing father. Of course, Julie would go along to show support, because Lawrence couldn’t possibly get away from his many duties. They could be gone all summer without any one becoming too concerned.

  Who knew covering up a murder could be so easy?

  Chapter Eight

  They stared in horror as the smoldering tree leaned further over their little valley.

  “It’s going to fall,” Derrick yelled. “Grab a blanket.”

  The tree plunged to the ground, sending sparks flying through the air. Every place the little embers landed, grass burst into flames. Together, Laramie and Derrick soaked their blankets, then turned and sprinted to where the flames leaped and danced. The drought-dry grass burned with fury, racing across the thirsty land. The fire roared like a train as it engulfed grass, oak brush, and even the quakie trees.

  They slapped at the flames with the soaking blankets, but it was no use. That they were losing the fight quickly became apparent to Laramie. Her skin felt sunburned, and her lips tasted like charcoal. She moved back from the blasting heat and watched Derrick for a moment. His muscles bulged under his shirt as he pounded the grass. But his strength was no match for the fire. Every time he put out a hot spot put out, another would jump up. “Derrick, stop.”

  Ignoring her plea, he fought on.

  She ran to him and grabbed his arm. “We can’t stop it.”

  “I’ve got to.” He shook her off and slapped at the marching blaze. “I’ll lose everything.”

  “Including your life,” Laramie shouted. “Our only chance is to get in the pond.”

  “I can’t quit.” He looked at her, and his face was black with soot. “Where are the firefighters?”

  She hated the look of despair in his eyes. “It’s too late. Look around you.” His gaze followed hers around the valley. Everything was engulfed in flames. Black smoke turned the air foul. Terrified, the cattle and horses had gathered at the pond’s edge. Laramie grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the animals. “Come on, it’s our only chance.”

  Half dragging him, she sprinted for the water.

  “Where’s Turbo?” he shouted.

  “I don�
�t know,” she said. “I haven’t seen him.”

  He dug in his heels. “I can’t leave him.”

  Heat scorched their backs. “He’ll go to the water.” Laramie tugged his hand. “Come on.”

  “Not without my dog.” He turned back toward the raging inferno.

  “You’ll die in there,” Laramie cried, grabbing at his shirttails. “Turbo!” She pointed. “Look, there he is.”

  The heeler bounded through the smoke like a gray ghost. “Thank God.” Derrick scooped the dog up in his arms. “Let’s go.”

  At the water’s edge, Derrick put Turbo down and took Laramie’s hand. Together, they waded into the cold depths. The horses and cattle crowded the edge, but didn’t step in. Once they were waist deep, Derrick and Laramie turned back toward the animals. The small valley was enveloped in flames, smoke billowing toward the sky.

  “If they come in the water, they might have a chance,” Derrick yelled over the raging inferno. “Let’s get out of the way, under the waterfall.”

  As they made their way toward the crashing water, it became too difficult to walk and they swam. Halfway there, Laramie’s jeans began to weigh her down. Fighting desperately, she struggled for the surface, but water rushed up her nose and into her mouth. Terror gripped her, and she flailed wildly.

  A strong hand grabbed her upper arm and dragged her up into air. Coughing and gagging, she somehow managed to stay afloat even though her jeans still tugged at her, beckoning her under again.

  “We’re almost there,” Derrick yelled over the roar of the fire and the cattle’s frightened bawling. “Hold onto me, and I’ll get you to shore.”

  Laramie hung on until he dragged them both onto a boulder near the waterfall’s edge. Once there, she sagged onto the rock, still coughing. Turbo rested his head in her lap, and she patted him with a weak hand. Once she could breathe again, she said, “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me,” Derrick said gruffly. “You okay?”