Marshall's Law

by Denise A. Agnew

  Dana sensed the plug in the volcano giving way, and the fright and adrenaline pushed her over the edge. A huge shudder overtook the small tremors racing through her body.

  “I told you I’m fine. In fact, now I’m sorry I even called you. I…I…” Tears sprang into her eyes, and she couldn’t stop their flow as they hit her eyelids and spilled. “I would appreciate a little more kindness, thank you very much. I just got the crap scared out of me and all you can do is yell.”

  A sob escaped her and then her vision blurred. She heard rather than saw him come closer, and then his warm hands drifted from her shoulders to her face. He’d ditched the flashlight somewhere. Marshall cupped her face gently, and when another sob issued from her lips, he kissed her forehead softly. More surprise rippled through her.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere? An ambulance is on the way.”

  She nodded, afraid if she opened her mouth all that would issue forth would be gibberish. Another incredible shudder went through her. He released her, then took off his jacket. He slipped the coat around her shoulders and engulfed her in his heat and masculine scent.

  Then, to her utter amazement, his drew her into his arms. He cupped the back of her head, pressing her into his shoulder. With his other hand he caressed her back with reassuring strokes, then gripped her tight. “Shhh. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

  His tender tone undid her, and the sobs came in earnest. Man alive. Where was all this fear and angst coming from? Dana didn’t know, and right now didn’t care. She felt too good wrapped in his care.

  He made more reassuring noises, all the while caressing her back. “Easy. Easy.”

  She could have sworn she felt him kiss her head again, so tender that it made tears come harder. “I…I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” he asked softly.

  Dana looked up, gazing into the warmest eyes she’d ever seen. Sweet comfort eased into her. “I yelled. I was just scared.”

  A small smile curved his mouth. “The lady admits she’s scared. That surprises me.”

  “Was scared. I’m not anymore.”

  The grin turned broad. “Good.” He reverted to the old Marshall, easing her back but keeping his arms around her. “Did you see anyone lurking around after the crash?”

  “No.”

  “What is going on around here?”

  “You’re asking me? I’ve decided Macon has it out for me. This is scarier than a Stephen King novel.” She gripped his shirtfront with both hands, mortified at the spot she’d made on his shoulder.

  “Did you turn off your cell phone?”

  “The battery went dead.”

  He released her. As he looked around the area, his expression became grim. He retrieved the flashlight and surveyed the area. “What a mess.”

  Tears threatened again, and she stifled them. “The jerk killed Bertha.”

  Marshall turned and stared at her. “Who?”

  “My car. Bertha.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” Sounding distracted, he peered into the tree line that created a wall along the embankment. “Did you see who was driving? What kind of car was it?”

  She shook her head. “I think it was a sedan.”

  “Make and model?”

  The cold seemed to get worse, clinging to her like mud on a pig. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this vulnerable and this useless. “I don’t think… I don’t remember.”

  Marshall reached for her, brushing his fingers over her forehead in a comforting gesture. “Did you hit your head again?”

  “I wish I could use that as an excuse. I was just so rattled, and it was dark. This butthead was trying to kill me, so I spent a lot more time trying to survive than worry about little details like the jerk’s car.”

  To her surprise, he nodded. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it right now.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance, and she pinned him with a defiant look. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “Damn it, Dana.” He switched to other tactics, slipping his warm hand behind her neck, careful not to touch the spot where the branch had clobbered her. “You’re going to the hospital if I have to hog-tie you to the stretcher.”

  She almost didn’t say it, but the thought came at the same time it escaped her lips. “That could be fun.”

  Instead of releasing her, he drew her a little closer. Dana thought she’d go up in flames as his gaze caressed her with a hot, welcome need. Jeez, Louise. The man is looking at me like that again. As if he wants to take me up on the idea. Everything around her dissolved. Fear, anger, and aches and pains.

  Before he could speak, the ambulance and another sheriff’s car roared to a stop next to Marshall’s vehicle. As he released her, the link broke, but not before he gave her a last searching look that asked more questions than it answered.

  Marshall knocked and announced his presence, then waited for Neal to answer his hotel room door. The Sleepy Side Hotel boasted the only semi-luxury accommodations in Macon, and Marshall guessed Neal made enough money to stay for as long as he liked.

  One thought powered into his mind above all others. If Neal had anything to do with Dana’s accident, I’ll grind the bastard into powder.

  Marshall had sent a deputy out to locate Gregory. He would grill him to a crisp if he’d caused Dana’s accident. Thoughts of what could have happened to her churned the acid in Marshall’s stomach.

  Marshall restrained the urge to pound on the door again, well aware he would wake half the area if he did.

  Screw it. He pounded on the door again. “Metcalf, open up.”

  The door sprang open and Neal appeared at the doorway, a pair of silk blue boxers clinging to his skinny frame. Neal’s blurry-eyed expression said he’d been in a deep sleep. “What’s going on? It’s almost oh dark thirty.”

  “Past that. I need to speak with you. We can either talk here or you can come down to the station.”

  Neal’s open expression changed to indignation. Marshall knew he was rubbing over people like sandpaper, but he didn’t care. Dana had almost lost her life tonight.

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “I’m asking you to answer my questions.”

  “So ask.” Marshall brushed past Neal and Neal turned to glare at him as he closed the door. “What’s going on?”

  Marshall surveyed the room as he scanned for a weapon. Nothing in plain sight. The room held two queen size beds. An open suitcase resided on the bed nearest the door, and Marshall caught a glimpse of a girly magazine peeking out from behind a pair of pants. The room smelled like stale cigarettes. He didn’t remember ever seeing Neal smoke.

  “Where were you tonight about midnight?” Marshall asked.

  Neal’s eyebrows pinched together and wrinkles covered his forehead. “Why?”

  Marshall propped his butt against the mirrored bureau and crossed his arms. “Just answer the question.”

  “Hey, just let me get some clothes on.”

  “Sit.”

  “What?”

  “Sit.”

  Like an obedient dog, the man sat on the bed next to the suitcase, his expression tangling between irritation and bewilderment. “Just ask the damn questions already.”

  “Where were you last night about twelve o’clock?”

  “Sleeping. What the hell else would I be doing?”

  “You could have been out driving.”

  Neal’s eyes narrowed. “I was in bed. Sleeping. Just like I was a few minutes ago until you banged on the door.” Neal’s edge of defiance eased, but didn’t disappear. He stood. “Hey, this isn’t something about my mom is it? Is she all right?”

  The panic in the man’s voice half convinced Marshall that Neal hadn’t changed from the cheerful, mild-mannered Clark Kent his image projected. “She’s fine. It’s Dana.”

  Neal’s mouth opened, then closed. “What? What’s happened to her?”

  “She was in a car accident to
night around midnight.”

  Neal planted his rear back on the bed. “Is she all right?”

  Marshall nodded, then kept silent, hoping the quiet treatment would yield more results than wringing the man’s neck for answers. He felt calmer now, but no less interested in finding the truth.

  Neal’s hair looked like it had been twisted through a food blender, and when he jammed a hand through it, the mess increased. “Thank God, she’s okay. What happened exactly?”

  “She was run off the road by a person or persons.” As Marshall explained minor details about the accident, he watched Neal’s expression and eyes for signs of deceit. He detected none.

  Neal looked shaken, but Marshall had seen men lie and smile and never break a sweat.

  “Mom said things have happened at the house, and to tell the truth that’s part of the reason I wanted to come back to Macon for a visit. I wanted to see if she was…you know…imagining things.”

  “And you believe she is?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s freaking bizarre. Now Dana’s accident.” Comprehension dawned over his face. “You don’t think I ran Dana off the road—” He swore. “You do. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “I’m investigating.” Marshall’s voice edged upward, turning it raw and harsh. “And if you know anything, anything at all, you’d better tell me now. If you don’t, it’ll be more than hell to pay. It’ll be Armageddon.”

  Neal’s face went chalky white and he stood. “Look, I don’t know crap about this. I can’t help you. I’ll go over to the hospital and see Dana.”

  Marshall straightened to his full height aware the smaller man would be intimidated. “It’s past visiting hours, and she’s protected. You won’t get near her.”

  “Protected?” Neal’s eyebrows hitched up in a cartoon fashion. “Has she had death threats?”

  “Yeah, I’d say getting run off the road qualifies as a death threat, wouldn’t you?”

  Neal’s hands went up in a helpless gesture. “It could’ve been kids on a lark.”

  Disgusted with his reasoning, Marshall made a sound of disbelief. “I doubt it. There aren’t that many murderous teens running around this town and you know it.”

  Neal fumbled for words, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. “Gregory wouldn’t do something like that. He’s a bastard sometimes, but he’d never kill anyone. A crazy drunk probably ran into her and then got scared and took off.” When Marshall played stare down with Neal, the younger man’s nervousness showed plainly on his face. “I’d never hurt Dana or anyone. It’s not in me. You’ve known me long enough to realize that, Marshall.”

  His hands went up again, palms out, as if he would say something profound. Then his mouth closed and he said nothing.

  “What were you going to tell me?” Marshall edged closer, moving away from the dresser.

  Neal shook his head. “Just a thought. Nothing important.”

  “Tell me.” Marshall bit out the words for emphasis.

  Neal’s eyes widened, a smidgen of fear and maybe sadness showing in his depths. “I dunno. I mean, I don’t think Gregory would try to murder her for God’s sake, but…”

  “Spill it now, or I can promise you’ll regret the day you met me.”

  Neal’s eyes shot proverbial daggers and lightning bolts. “Did Dana ever tell you what a bastard he’s been to her?”

  A deep, icy cold sensation entered Marshall’s stomach. He wanted to hunt down Gregory right now. “No. What did he do?”

  Neal slid both hands through his hair, looking ridiculous and uncomfortable. “He’s always been after Dana.”

  “Let’s cut the obtuse crap, Metcalf. After Dana? What does that mean?”

  Neal shrugged. “He’s always thought she was hot. So he’s been trying to get in her pants since she was a teenager.”

  “You mean when she was jail bait?”

  “Exactly.” Neal gave a nervous laugh. “We may not be related to Dana by blood, but the thought of cousins… I dunno. Makes my stomach lurch.”

  The bonfire burned higher within Marshall, and anger almost overruled his restraint. He clenched his fists at his sides and took two deep breaths. Don’t lose it now. You need a clear head to see what’s happening here.

  He stalked to the door. “Thanks for the information, Metcalf.” Yanking the door open, Marshall headed outside. “And if I hear you even breathed in Dana’s general direction, I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Morning light spilled in Marshall’s office, striking his face. He’d drifted in and out of sleep, stretched out in his chair with his feet on the desk. His mind felt like a marshmallow burned on a stick, his eyes gritty and his mouth dry. Peeling his eyes open, he stared at the single light in the office. A lamp illuminated a small circle on his desk. A report on last night’s incidents awaited his attention. His computer needed booting up so he could dig through files.

  Instead of starting to work on the report, he reached for the coffee pot and flipped the switch. He’d filled it with fresh water and coffee a few hours ago, but had never started it. It sputtered and coughed before doing its duty. He slumped back into his chair and closed his eyes again.

  A door slammed somewhere in the outer office, then a voice, sharp and strident bellowed. “I’ll sue the whole sheriff’s department!”

  Marshall groaned. Great. Freaking great. He’d recognize that whiny-assed voice anywhere. Gregory-the-piss-ant-Metcalf. Amazing how the man’s suave and debonair façade cracked under a little pressure. His eyes popped open, and he straightened in his chair. No more sleep for him today. Might as well pour a cup of sludge and prepare to roast Gregory Metcalf on a spit.

  Skeeter knocked on the door and entered, announcing the obvious. “Gregory Metcalf is here. Do you want me to bring him in?”

  Marshall stood. “Put him in the interrogation room.”

  Skeeter nodded and then started to close the door. Then he produced a strained look. “Oh, yeah, the Sheriff wants to talk with you. He got in ten minutes ago.” Skeeter’s expression eased into a tentative smile. “I think he’d be in here chewing your ass. But he got a call.”

  “Great. Looking forward to it,” Marshall said, adding a sarcastic tinge to his words. “Where did you find Metcalf?”

  “At the The Billiards Motel outside town. Way outside town.”

  “Uh-huh.” Anyone who’d lived in town longer then six seconds knew The Billiards hosted a variety of prostitutes on a weekly basis. Gregory had probably been indulging in a little slap and tickle overnight. “Nobody with him?”

  Skeeter shook his head. “Nope. Alone and naked as a newborn’s butt. He opened the door that way.”

  Marshall laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” Skeeter chuckled and closed the door.

  As Skeeter left Marshall wondered if Sheriff Pizer wanted his butt because Dana had called him, or because Neal wanted to complain about police brutality or some other nonsense. No, Dana hadn’t acted angry once he’d held her in his arms and comforted her. She’d clung to him like a child, and her sobs had torn at his heart. Dug into him and opened up places inside he’d thought closed forever.

  Concern for her ate at him, as it had when she’d first fallen into his arms in this very office. No, it went back further than that. He remembered how she’d felt under him in the bathtub. He’d felt the kick way down in his gut and lost his breath in the same instant.

  He reached for the phone and started to dial, but he hung up. No, Dana didn’t need him waking her up. She needed rest after what had happened to her. Besides, Marshall had arranged for another protective measure. Logan kept watch on the house through the rest of the night after Closky left for the evening. Logan phoned last night when Dana had returned home from the hospital, and he’d reported in on a regular basis throughout the night. She’d be safe for now.

  For now. He knew, in a visceral way, that he couldn’t count on her
safety forever. Security, like a mirage, was an illusion. Accidents happened, illnesses occurred. Most of the time he didn’t clutter his mind with gloomy thoughts, but the last few days hadn’t made for easy thinking or sleeping. He’d lost his appetite, and his stomach churned. Taking a deep breath to shove away the tight feeling in his gut, he poured a fresh cup of coffee and headed for the cross-examination room. Grill ’em and spill ’em. That’s what Sheriff Pizer called it, and the name fit right.

  When he first saw Gregory, he noted a fine sheen of sweat covered the man’s face. Features women drooled over looked strained and harried. Good. Served the bastard right. He hoped the guilt leaked out of the creep right here. There’d be no one to mop him up.

  The prominent businessman, used to cool-as-a-polar-bear’s-ass-on-ice negotiations, didn’t come across calm or collected. Gregory’s right eyelid twitched, and his hair looked almost as messy as his brother’s had earlier. His long sleeved white dress shirt appeared rumpled, and he lacked a tie. Amazing. This man never went out of the house without a tie, or so Lucille had told him long ago.

  Marshall let Metcalf stew as he took a long, slow sip of coffee. He looked at Gregory over the brim of the gargantuan mug. Then he sighed with satisfaction. Nothing like a good caffeine jolt. “Coffee, Metcalf?”

  When Gregory’s jaw clenched Marshall knew his deliberate casualness grated on the toad’s nerves.

  “What I want is some answers.” Gregory’s face twisted into a mask of hate. His gaze shifted to the two-way mirror on the wall to his right. “Is the sheriff out there watching this fiasco? I hope so, because when you’re done I’m going to sue you and the department to kingdom come.”

  Marshall kept his temper under control and eyed the other man with a weary, unconcerned gaze. “I heard you earlier.” He took another sip of hot, black java. “Certain you don’t want some coffee this morning? It’s hot, and today it tastes pretty good. That’s not a sure thing every day.”

  Without a doubt the big prick sitting behind the table looked about ready to blow like Mount St. Helens. “I want to know what I’ve been brought here for.”