"So why tell me now? Why not simply let me figure out what happened to Edmund, say thank you, and go back to New York?" Disgusted with himself, he realized he was fishing for words he would never hear her say.
She paled. "How can you say that?" she whispered. "After last night, how could you even think I would run back to New York when I know what happened to Edmund?"
"It's pretty easy, Ms. Fitzpatrick. You're a user, and you've been using me all along. Why should I think anything's changed, because we had great sex last night? You had an itch, we scratched it, and that's that."
He was almost undone by the tears that pooled in her eyes. "That's not all that happened last night, and you know it. We shared a lot more than sex."
"Maybe I did," he said, anger making him strike out at her. "But I didn't notice you spilling your guts to me."
"I'm sorry, Dev. I'll leave this morning." She turned away, and he heard her sniffling. His hands ached to reach out and comfort her, and he damned his treacherous heart. He'd been right all along. He was better off alone, better off without anyone in his life.
But he couldn't let her walk away until he knew who was trying to kill her. It was his job, after all. His heart twisted again, and he looked away from her. "No. Stay here. I don't want you to leave the Red Rock. You'll be safe here, and I don't want to have to worry about you while I get to the bottom of your brother's murder."
He stormed away, refusing to look back. In another moment, he'd be telling her that it didn't matter, that he loved her anyway. He might have made a fool of himself over Carly, but he wasn't going to compound that mistake.
Carly listened to the sound of Devlin's footsteps fading away, then heard his truck start. He drove away from the house much too quickly, his anger humming in the sound of the tires spitting gravel.
He had every right to be angry, she knew. She should have told him the truth before they made love the night before. But she had been a coward, and had allowed herself to be swept away by passion rather than tell him who she was.
She swallowed again and scrubbed the tears away from her face. He had told her to stay at the ranch, but she couldn't allow herself to sit quietly while Devlin solved the murder. Especially now.
Determined to do something, she headed back to the house to get the keys to her Jeep. Shea was coming out of the house just as she walked in.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Shea touched her arm, forcing her to stop.
"Nothing." She tried to smile.
Shea wrapped her arm around Carly's shoulders and led her to the porch railing. Settling herself on the edge, she said, "What is it, Carly? What has that blockhead brother of mine done?"
Carly felt the tears gathering in her eyes again. "He hasn't done anything. It's me. I've been lying to him since the day I arrived in Cameron."
Shea narrowed her eyes, and the air suddenly felt cooler. "What do you mean?"
Carly poured out the whole story to Shea, and the other woman's face gradually eased as she listened to what Carly had to say. Finally there was silence.
"You've messed up, big-time," Shea said.
"I know." Carly swallowed, determined not to start crying again.
"Do you love him?"
"Of course I do."
"Then show him. He's afraid to take a chance on letting anyone get close. You were the first woman since Judy that he's allowed into his life, and now he feels like you've betrayed him, too. You've got to prove to him that you love him."
"How do I do that?" she whispered.
Shea shrugged. "You have to figure that out for yourself." She slid off the railing, and her face softened. "You're good for him, Carly. He needs you in his life. Don't let him scare you away."
Carly stood watching as Shea hurried down to the barn. Shea was right, she realized. Devlin had every right to mistrust her. She hadn't shown him that she loved him, but that was going to change. And she'd start by not running away, as he clearly expected her to do.
She'd come to Cameron convinced that the McAllisters were involved in Edmund's death. Now she was equally convinced that they weren't. She hadn't known Devlin's father, but no murderer could have raised children like Dev and Shea. Devlin might never forgive her betrayal, but at least she could clear his family name. If she could give him nothing else, she could stand up in front of everyone in Cameron and tell them that the McAllister family wasn't involved in the death of her brother.
Running into the house, she grabbed her keys and backpack, stopping only long enough to take a couple cans of soda and some candy bars from the kitchen. Whatever was going on had started with the newspaper articles that Edmund had written. She was convinced of that. So she'd go back and talk to the Hansons one more time.
She'd just parked her Jeep in front of the newspaper office and slid out when Devlin strode out of the sheriff's office. For a moment she stood still, wondering if he'd even notice her. She wasn't ready for another confrontation with him.
But his internal radar seemed to be working just fine. He paused before he got into his police Blazer and looked directly at her.
Slamming the door shut, he walked across the street. There was no anger in his face—it was expressionless. Her heart ached. Any expression, even the anger and pain that had been in his eyes this morning, was better than this cold appraisal.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.
"I'm going to take another look at the newspapers."
"You've already looked at all the newspapers about your brother's murder. You told me so. What are you really doing here?"
She wanted to flinch at his implication that she was lying to him again, but she knew he had a right to doubt her. "I want to make sure there isn't anything I've missed."
He made a scoffing sound. "You could have read every back issue of the Weekly Sentinel in the amount of time you've spent here. Tell me the truth, Carly."
"I am telling you the truth." She wanted to reach for him, but his eyes were too cold, too harsh. "I'm going to look around one more time, make sure there isn't anything I've missed." She fingered the black velvet cord she wore around her neck and touched the tiny key it held. "This belonged to my brother. I don't know what it opens, but maybe it's something in the newspaper office."
His eyes flickered over the key and dismissed it. "You were supposed to stay at the Red Rock. We agreed it was the safest place for you."
"You decided I was supposed to stay there. I don't remember agreeing with you."
Something hot flared in his eyes, then was ruthlessly subdued. "Carly, I don't have the time to both solve your brother's murder and watch out for you. I want you to stay at the Red Rock so I don't have to worry about you."
"I'm not going to sit quietly at your ranch while you solve my problems for me," she said, her temper rising. "And besides, what's going to happen to me in Cameron? Is someone going to snatch me off the street in broad daylight?"
He shook his head, but she thought she saw a flicker of respect in the gray depths of his eyes. "You are a piece of work, Slick. Fine. Go ahead and harass the Hansons again. Just don't do anything stupid, all right? You've already complicated my life enough. See if you can go right back to the Red Rock when you're finished."
She angled her chin a little higher. She might deserve his cutting words, but she would never let him see how much they hurt. "That's exactly what I was going to do."
"Fine."
"Good." But she was reluctant to let him go. "Where were you going?"
His eyes hardened. "I'm going out to talk to Phil Hilbert. It's time I got a statement from him about this mess."
"Do you think he was involved?"
His eyes glittered like shards of glass. "He's the logical suspect. If you hadn't been so fixated on my father, you would have seen that, too. I can't think of anyone else in the area who hated my father enough to try and frame him for a murder."
"I guess I'll see you later, then," she said.
"You will," he agreed. "Unless you decide
you've had enough and leave town."
"I'm not leaving," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "You're not going to chase me away."
He stared at her a minute, then muttered, "You can't blame a man for trying." He spun around and stalked away, and moments later his white Blazer roared down Cameron's Main Street
.
She waited until his truck was out of sight, then she took a deep breath and walked into the Cameron Weekly Sentinel office. Ralph Hanson was sitting at the desk, and June was staring over his shoulder.
"Good morning," she forced herself to say with a smile. "Do you mind if I look around again?"
Ralph looked up, an expression of sick dismay on his face. Finally she saw a spark of recognition in his eyes. "Good morning, Carly. What did you say?"
Remembering the Hanson's conversations with Devlin when she'd first arrived in town, she wanted to ask what was wrong, and if there was anything she could do to help. But she knew the Hansons were proud people, so she pretended she hadn't noticed anything. "Is it all right if I take another look at your archives?"
"Go ahead." Ralph waved his hand toward the stairs, then looked back down at the papers he held in his hands.
Carly hesitated for a moment, then turned and descended the stairs. The air was damp and musty, but she was used to it by now. She placed her backpack on the table, then turned and surveyed the room.
She'd looked everywhere in the basement, she knew. She'd found every newspaper from the time before her mother sold the paper, and read every article about her brother's death. There was nowhere else to look.
There had to be more, she told herself. Somehow, Edmund's death was related to the fight between the McAllisters and the Hilberts. And somewhere in this office was the proof she needed.
She touched the key that dingled at the end of the velvet cord, and began to search.
* * *
She'd been in the basement for two hours when she discovered the crawl space. The door had been hidden by piles of broken furniture, and when she moved the chairs and tables and opened the door, a blast of old, stale air greeted her.
Her heart pounded with excitement as she pulled a flashlight out of her backpack. Boosting herself into the crawl space, she directed the beam of light around the room.
She was disappointed to see that it merely held more debris. Boxes of office records stood stacked against the wall, teetering on the uneven gravel that covered the floor. Several old typewriters lay at crazy angles in front of them. An ancient cash register stood propped against one of the boxes. As she moved the beam of light around the room, all she saw was the normal discards of a place of business.
Edging toward the back of the shallow room, she trained her flashlight on the corners of the crawl space. In the first corner, she saw nothing but cobwebs and spiders. Shuddering, she aimed the light at the other corner.
Almost obscured by the spiderwebs was a small, brown wooden box. Her heart thudded when she saw it, but she didn't know why. Pulling a tissue out of her pocket, she brushed away the webs and pulled the box out of the corner.
Carved onto the lid were the words Property of Edmund Whitmore. Private!
Carly swallowed as she stared down at the box. Her hand shook as she reached for the key she wore around her neck. She would have sworn she'd never seen the box before, but somehow she knew the key would fit. Memories flashed in front of her, pictures of her brother pressing the key into her hand just a few days before he died. "Keep this for me, Carrie," he'd said. "Keep it safe for me."
Her hand trembled as she fit the key into the small lock on the box. The lock was stiff and tight, but eventually she heard it click open. When she lifted the lid, she saw a neat stack of typewritten papers. Below those were several small notebooks. Her heart contracted when she realized they were the same kind she herself now used.
Carly slid out of the crawl space, ignoring the spiderwebs, the dust and the mold. She set the box on the table, took a deep breath, and lifted out the first paper.
* * *
Chapter 15
«^»
Carly gripped the steering wheel of the Jeep and pressed the accelerator a little harder as she sped along the road out of Cameron. It was over. After twenty years, she finally knew the truth about Edmund's murder. She'd meet Dev at the Red Rock and show him the copies of the papers she'd found, and he would handle the rest. Ben Jackson had promised that he would keep the originals safe. Dev trusted him completely, and so would she.
She barely slowed down as she headed into the series of curves in the road before the entrance to the Red Rock. There was an insistent rhythm inside her, urging her home. To the Red Rock and Devlin. Ben had told her that he'd call Dev on the radio and have him meet her there. A few more minutes, and she'd be able to see the entrance to the ranch.
As she drove around a particularly sharp curve, she spotted something in the road ahead of her. Slamming on the brakes, she managed to stop the Jeep just in time to avoid an assortment of rocks spread across the road. Another rock fall, she thought, and shifted into four-wheel drive in order to go onto the shoulder and around the mess.
But before she could start the car again, her door flew open. Phil Hilbert stood in front of her, a deadly looking shotgun held steadily in his hands.
"Get out of the truck, Carly," he said.
"Phil! What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? Get out." She saw his finger tighten on the trigger of the gun.
She slid off the seat and onto the rocky shoulder of the road, using one hand to push her backpack onto the floor, hoping he wouldn't notice it. But he gestured into the car with the gun.
"Get your pack, too. Is there anything else in the car?"
"No."
He watched, implacable, as she reached into the car for the backpack. She held it in front of her like a shield. Her hands shook, but she refused to let him see her fright.
"What do you want, Phil?"
He frowned at her. "I thought you were intelligent, Carly. Isn't it obvious?"
"Maybe you should explain it to me."
He gestured impatiently with the gun. "You've apparently found some documents that might implicate me in the unfortunate situation that developed here twenty years ago. We're going to get rid of the documents, and then you."
"I already gave the originals to Devlin," she said. "So you're too late."
He smiled at her. "I know you're lying, Carly. McAllister was at my ranch until just a short time ago. Then he headed for his own place, right before this convenient rock slide. I intercepted you before you got to the Red Rock. He's still there, waiting for you and those interesting documents."
"I left them at his office."
He tilted his head, then shook it. "I don't think so. I know how you journalists operate. You don't trust anyone with your paperwork. You might have copies with you, which I'll make sure I destroy, but I bet you left the originals right where you found them. After all, they'd been safe there for twenty years, hadn't they?"
"How did you know I'd found anything?"
"The Hansons were very helpful." He spoke in a conversational tone, but the shotgun never wavered. "I called them to ask if they'd seen you, and they were eager to be of assistance. They owe me a great deal of money, you see. They told me you'd made copies of some papers, then put the originals back in the basement. Then you got in your truck and headed out toward the Red Rock."
Carly remembered her guilt at the small deception earlier when she'd told the Hansons she was putting the papers back but had hidden them in her backpack instead. Now at least the evidence against Phil would be safe.
She glanced down the road, hoping that someone would come along, praying for Devlin. Phil saw her looking, and shifted the gun in his hand. "Enough of this talking. I have plans for you, and they don't include chitchat. Get into my truck."
She wouldn't get in the truck. She tensed, ready to turn and run, but he cocked the gun. "Don't try it, Carly. The
re's nowhere to go." He smiled at her. "I picked my spot carefully. You can't climb these cliffs, and I'd have several clear shots at you before you could find cover. Have you ever seen what a shotgun can do to the human body?"
He held the gun on her steadily, and she found herself staring at it. Suddenly Phil grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. "I don't have all day." He pressed the gun to her back, then shoved her toward his truck. "Get in."
It took only moments for Phil to start the truck. They sped past the entrance to the Red Rock, then turned onto the road she'd taken earlier in the week. With her hand wrapped around the door handle, she watched out of the corner of her eye for a chance to escape as Phil drove up the rutted track. The truck jolted and bumped over the road, but the gun never moved from her chest.
* * *
Devlin stood next to Carly's abandoned Jeep, his mouth acrid with fear and his blood roaring in his ears. Footprints and tire tracks told him she'd been taken away in another vehicle, and fury swept over him.
Every instinct screamed at him to run after her, to find her and keep her safe. But he forced himself to stand motionless, to wait for Ben to arrive. Ben was a tracker. He would be able to figure out where they'd gone. It would be useless for him to go charging off, without having any idea where they'd gone.
It seemed like an eternity before he heard the siren on Ben's police Blazer. The other man swung out of the truck almost before it had stopped moving, then crouched down and stared at the pavement in front of Carly's Jeep.
Devlin wanted to scream at the deputy to hurry, to tell him where to find Carly, but he choked the words back. Ben was aware of the urgency. He was working as fast as he could.
"They drove farther down the road," Ben finally said, nodding toward the Red Rock.
"Let's go."
Devlin jumped into his truck and waited for Ben to lead the way. Ben drove slowly, stopping frequently to get out and look at the road. Finally, when they'd stopped at the track that led into the mountains behind the Red Rock, he nodded. "They went off the road here."
COWBOY WITH A BADGE Page 20