by Lori Wilde
“I don’t want to hear any more lies!” Her eyes were wide and startled. It killed him that he’d caused her so much fear.
“Will you just listen?”
“Why? To give you time to wrestle this gun away from me? Don’t stand so close, back up against the wall.”
Keegan did as she asked. “I’m not Connor Heller. I really am Keegan Winslow. Heller murdered my family.”
She hesitated. He could tell she wanted to believe him, but she was afraid, and he couldn’t blame her.
“Put down the shotgun, Wren, and let’s talk.”
“Show me some ID. Prove you’re Keegan Winslow.”
Keegan sighed. “I quit the police force after the fire and turned in my badge.”
“A driver’s license then.”
Hell, he’d had his wallet stolen back in Nebraska. “I don’t have any ID on me, but I swear to you I’m not Connor Heller.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Come on, Wren, do you think you might actually be attracted to a murderer? You’ve got more sense than that.”
“I’ve been fooled before. Blaine was a con man, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
He saw the pain in her eyes as she warred with herself. “What about that kiss?” he whispered. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t special, because I know it was.”
“The radio announcer said Heller has a burn scar on his back,” she insisted, stubbornly raising her chin and ignoring his claim that their kiss had meant something. “Since you can’t prove you’re not him, then that burn stands as proof you are.”
“Heller was burned in the fire he started. The fire that killed my wife and daughter. That same fire scarred me too.”
“Not good enough.” She didn’t even blink. “I think you are Heller, and you’re just pretending to be Keegan Winslow.”
“Wren.” He sighed. “If I were Heller and intent on hurting you, then wouldn’t I have done so by now?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You needed my help. I was useful to you.”
Time was of the essence. He had to get back on Heller’s trail as soon as possible. He couldn’t stand here all night debating with Wren.
“Fine. Believe what you want. I’m leaving.” Keegan made a move for the door.
“Don’t.” Her tone was firm, deadly.
“Look.” He lifted his palms. “I’ve been tracking Heller ever since he escaped from prison. I finally narrowed down my search to the Rascal area. Heller’s half-brother, Gary Markum, lives just a few miles from here. If we heard that newscast, then we can be sure Heller will hear it, too. I’ve got to find him before he takes off again.”
“Good try,” she said, looking alarmed. He assumed she knew the Markums since they were her closest neighbors, and she had to be worried about them. “But it doesn’t impress me. You and I are going to get in my truck and drive into town where we’re going to see Sheriff Langley. If you really are Winslow, then you can prove it to him.”
“That’ll take hours, driving in the ice and snow, and that’s if we don’t end up dead in the ditch on the way.”
“So? If you are who you say you are, it won’t matter. And if we die, then we’ll both be out of our misery, won’t we?”
He winced at the thoughtlessness of his words. Her parents had died as a result of wrecking on the ice, and Wren had suffered a lifelong injury. The fact she’d be willing to chance venturing out in the weather told him exactly how determined she was.
“I can’t give Heller time to get out of town.”
“That’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
“No,” Keegan replied. “I’m not going with you.” He turned on his heels and headed for the door.
She pumped the shotgun.
The noise echoed loud and ugly in the room.
“Don’t make me use this.”
“Wren,” he said, without even looking at her. Instead, he rested his hand on the doorknob. “If you want to stop me, then you’ll just have to shoot me.”
SWEAT PELLETS FORMED on Wren’s brow.
Was he telling the truth? Was he really Keegan Winslow or could he be that cold-blooded murderer, Connor Heller? Either way, she needed to warn her best friend Savannah and her husband, Gary. But how? The phones were out, and it was over two miles to their house through the ice and snow.
“Please,” she begged, “step away from the door.”
What would she do if he refused to obey? Could she bring herself to pull the trigger? She was confused, upset, and angry with both herself and the man in front of her.
He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. He tugged the brim of his Stetson down lower over his forehead, zipped up his denim jacket, and scowled. “I’m leaving now.”
He opened the door, and the cold night air ripped through the room, sending a frigid chill chasing up her nightgown and snow flurries whirling into the foyer.
One last time, he glanced at her over his shoulder, his dark eyes smoldering. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “No matter what happens, I need you to believe that.”
Wren gulped as her emotions rioted.
Could she honestly have fallen in love with a murderer?
Her heart dropped to her feet. She had a history of falling for inappropriate men. A man had taken advantage of her good nature. A man had used her.
Could she have made another terrible mistake? Could her instincts have truly been so wrong about him?
Or had she been blind to all the signals—his aloof moodiness, his reluctance to talk about himself, his insistence that he was no good for her. He’d warned her, and she’d been too stupid to pay attention.
“Goodbye, Wren Matthews,” he said, giving her a little salute. “You deserve the best in life, and I hope you find a good man to love you.”
The shotgun lay heavy in her hands. Her throat was dry, her muscles tense. Keegan wore the scarf she’d knitted him. How could she shoot a man wearing the scarf she’d made him? Besides, what if he was Keegan Winslow and not Connor Heller?
She had no alternative but to let him go.
He disappeared into the night, enveloped by darkness and snow. Wren felt the loss straight to her soul.
Keegan was gone.
She crossed the room and locked the door. Empty. Her life was empty once more.
Whimpering, Wren returned the shotgun to the gun cabinet, careful not to step on the sharp shards littering the carpet. In her fear and haste, she had broken the glass when she’d been unable to locate the key.
Had her spirits ever been so heavy, her world so dark? Yes. After her parents died, when she’d awakened in the hospital to have the doctors tell her she might never walk again. That had been horrible.
But this was awful, too. Much worse than what had happened with Blaine. Blaine had taken her money and her pride, but he had not broken her heart. She let out a high-pitched wail.
Keegan had wished that she might find love. Unfortunately, she had. With him. No matter how much she might wish it wasn’t true, she couldn’t deny the feelings that churned inside her. He needed her, whether he knew it or not, and she needed him.
Both of them had so much sorrow in their past, it was such a shame they couldn’t reach out to each other and express their true feelings. But how could they, when she wasn’t even sure of the man’s identity?
She shook her head. He could not be Heller, no matter how damning the evidence. Whatever his faults, Wren knew Keegan was incapable of starting a fire that killed a woman and her child.
But he was consumed with revenge. With good reason, Wren could grant him that, but how could a man learn to love again if his heart was filled with hate?
Despondent, Wren dropped onto the couch. Why had he come into her life, raised her expectations, made her start living again, and then cruelly dashed her hopes?
She stared glumly at the lights on the Christmas tree. She’d been right after all to close herself off from people, to pick lonelin
ess over love. She had taken a chance, and all she’d gotten for her efforts was a big old pile of pain.
Perhaps, the part of her that declined to give up whispered, perhaps once he’s captured Heller and sent him to prison, Keegan will come back for you.
Mentally, Wren squelched that romantic notion and hardened her heart. She didn’t live in the world of romance novels, she lived a harsh, cold reality. She was a crippled spinster with nothing but a run-down dairy farm and her teaching job. She might as well get used to the idea that no Prince Charming, hell, not even a damaged rascal, was going to come rescue her from her fate. This was her life, and she had to come to grips with it.
Self-pity, stronger than anything she’d experienced since the accident that took her parents’ lives, welled inside her.
Wren buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
A few minutes later, a knock at her door had her swiping at her tears. Midnight on Christmas Eve. She no longer believed in Santa. There was only one other person it could be.
Wren sprang from the couch and hurried across the room. “Keegan!” she cried out and threw open the door.
Chapter Thirteen
But it wasn’t Keegan on her porch.
Wren’s spirits plummeted at the same moment a spiral of fear coiled inside her stomach. She might have thought Keegan was ominous that night he’d appeared at her door, but this character was straight from a horror movie.
The man was big. Bigger than Keegan, with massive shoulders that filled the doorway. He had long, stringy, black hair that grew past his shoulders and a scraggly beard that almost obscured his thick neck. His eyes were small and dark, his lips thick and ugly. Pockmarks marred his complexion. His overcoat was stained and dirty, and he emitted a rather unpleasant odor.
Wren gasped and took a step back.
He pushed her aside, slammed the door behind him, and shifted his beady-eyed gaze around the kitchen.
“Wh...who are you?” she stammered, but Wren knew the answer before he even spoke.
The thug grinned wickedly, revealing a row of crooked, yellowed teeth. “Connor Heller and you and I are going to get to know each other real well.”
His politeness was chilling. More so than rank profanity would have been.
Wren drew herself up and tried her best not to show him any fear. “You’re not invited.”
“Ah.” He faked a disappointed expression and shook his shaggy head. “That’s too bad.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Heller.”
“What’s the matter? I ain’t as cute as your boyfriend?”
“If you’re not out of here in the next thirty seconds, I’m calling the sheriff.”
“You can’t, sweet thing. I cut your telephone lines about three days ago, and the storm has kept the phone company sorta busy. They haven’t had a chance to make it out here.”
Wren sucked in her breath. Her phone lines had been cut. Not by Keegan, but by this man.
“I’ve got a cell phone.”
“Cell phones don’t work out here.”
“I have a satellite phone.”
“Don’t lie. It’ll make your nose grow.”
“How do you know I don’t have a satellite phone?” she whispered, feeling herself rapidly losing her control.
“I’ve been watching you.” Heller breathed heavily, making Wren think rather inanely of Darth Vader. “Waiting for your cop boyfriend to leave.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. I saw you playing kissy-face with Winslow.”
“You were spying on us!”
“Yep.”
Wren shuddered. “Why did you cut my phone line?”
“Hell, I was gonna invite myself in three days ago when this storm blew in. Imagine my surprise when Winslow beat me to it.” Heller snorted. “Some detective he is. Couldn’t find his rear end with both hands. I was ten yards away, and he had no idea I was here.”
Feeling the color drain from her face, Wren leaned against the wall and tried to think. “You’ve been hiding here all along?”
“Yep. Been holed up in your storm cellar all this time.”
“Why?”
“Waitin’ for a chance to visit my brother for Christmas.”
“So why my house?” She fisted her hands on her hips, hoping to seem calm, and recoup her bluff, but glad he wasn’t at the Markum Ranch holding her friends Gary and Savannah hostage.
“You were close...and alone.”
“Keegan was here.”
“Yeah. He ruined all my plans.” Heller’s eyes gleamed as his gaze roved over Wren’s body. “Until now.”
“He’s coming back,” she said.
“No, he’s not. He’s out looking for me.”
“He’ll find you.”
“That idiot? Not likely. He’s been trailing me for six months without any luck.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? Cops in four states haven’t been able to find me.”
“It’s all over the radio you’ve been spotted in Rascal. There’s an all-points bulletin out on you.”
That got his attention. He looked startled. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that.
He sneered. “I deluded them before, I’ll do it again.”
It was on the tip of Wren’s tongue to tell him the word was “eluded,” but she kept her mouth shut. Let the oaf remain ignorant. It was doubtful he’d even finished high school.
“Hey,” Heller asked, changing the subject. “You got anything to eat?’
Before she could answer, he went over to the refrigerator and flung open the door. He found the leftover Cornish game hen and ripped at it with his teeth. He stuffed the food into his face, chewed lewdly, then threw the bones in the trash can and licked his thick fingers. “You’re a good cook.”
Was she supposed to thank him for the compliment? Wren decided proper etiquette wasn’t required.
“Why’d you do it?” she asked instead. “Why did you murder Keegan’s wife and baby daughter?”
A feral expression crossed Heller’s features. He looked wolfish and dangerous. “He killed my little sister, Victoria. I had to make him pay.”
“It didn’t solve anything, did it?” she said, lecturing him the way she longed to lecture Keegan. “You went to prison and now you’re on the run. Plus, your sister is still dead.”
“I got the satisfaction of hurting your boyfriend. Let him have a dose of his own medicine. Cops are so full of themselves. They like dishing it out, but when it comes to taking it, they’re all sissies.”
She winced. “What makes you think Keegan is my boyfriend?”
“I saw you together. The way he looks at you. The way you two fought. Fair like the therapists love to say.”
Wren remembered the heated exchange between her and Keegan right here in this kitchen when he’d lost control of his temper and lashed out at her. That was fair?
“He’s got the hots for you. Bad.” Heller raked another lecherous gaze over her body, making Wren wish she was wearing a suit of armor. “Personally, I don’t see it. You’re mousy, and you don’t wear near enough makeup. And you’re flat as a pancake up top. But I suppose he’s pretty hard up.”
She ignored his insult.
“Then again, Winslow’s wife wasn’t much of a looker either. Guess he prefers the sweet, innocent types.”
“You think—because we argued—it means Keegan cares about me?” Wren pushed her bangs from her face, curious to hear what the man had to say.
“Passion, baby. I spied on him and his old lady for three weeks before I torched the house. Guess what? They never fought. Ever. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
Passion? Keegan passionate about her? Could it be true? Wren’s heart gave a little bump at the possibility.
“Do you?” Wren didn’t know why she was asking his opinion other than she was stalling for time as her mind raced for a way out
of this situation.
“Hey, if you can’t get het up enough over someone to fight with them, how you gonna make sparks under the covers?”
The thought of anyone making sparks with this disgusting man sent a shiver of loathing running through her body. This was ridiculous. Why was she standing here talking to this person? She had no idea of his intentions, but surely, they weren’t good. She should either make a dash for the gun cabinet or try to get out the back door before he could catch her.
“You’re a very crude man,” she said. She was closer to the door than to the gun cabinet, but he could easily step out and block her way.
“I admit I ain’t no dandy. Not like your Winslow,” he spoke in a mocking, singsong voice.
“Stop making fun of Keegan,” Wren replied hotly. “He’s a kind, upstanding man, and I hope he puts you back behind bars for the rest of your natural life.”
“You got a crush on him, don’t you?” Heller crowed. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“I do not,” Wren denied, but she knew the proof was on her face for this creep to read. She did not hide her emotions well. She did love Keegan, with all her heart and soul, and she was sorry she’d ever doubted him. Even for one minute.
“Oh, this is great.” Heller giggled a high-pitched laugh that sent chills marching down her spine. “I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what?” she asked, horror squeezing her chest.
He rubbed his palms together and advanced upon her. “I had to be sure he cared about you.”
“Why?” Wren’s voice was shrill, her back pressed stickily against the wall.
“So I can kill you.”
Her knees buckled, and she swayed on her feet. The man was insane. There was no other explanation for his sick behavior.
“This way...” Heller rubbed his palms together with glee. “I can get revenge on Winslow twice!”
KEEGAN TRUDGED THROUGH the snow, the wind battering his body. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Wren’s face when he’d turned his back on her and walked out the door.
He’d been cruel, he knew that.
Cruel to be kind?