An instinct that sent apprehension skittering on spiders’ legs along her backbone, whispering that it hadn’t been what she’d seen reflected that had triggered her alarm at all but instead the nature of the surface. Taking a deep breath, she turned the flashlight’s beam back toward the Tahoe’s fender. Only this time she registered the slight dimpling of the metal, along with a patch of paint that didn’t quite match.
As if someone had inexpertly repaired body damage in that one spot—a bad fix on a vehicle that otherwise looked pristine.
She told herself that it was nothing, that law-enforcement vehicles were probably involved in accidents quite often. Still, why would someone try to cover it on the sly instead of taking it back to the dealership or at least a paint-and-body guy who knew what he was doing?
Foreboding contracted low in her gut, an instinct that had her remembering something Jessie had said about her investigation into some sleazy local politician. Sheriffs were elected, weren’t they? And wasn’t there already some kind of bad blood between Canter and the Rayfords?
An image, sharp as a knife’s edge, sliced away reality. As the night around her fell away, she saw a dusky sky made darker by the pouring rain outside of her car’s window, saw the side-view mirror with the dark grill bearing down. She recalled jamming hard on the accelerator, shooting toward the bridge, but her pursuer was closing in too fast. His front fender slammed against her rear tire with a crashing crunch that flung her like a tin can into—and through—the bridge’s guardrail.
She shivered, staring at the fender, suddenly dead certain that if the paint was flaked away from that faulty paint job, she’d find another splash of color underneath it—the blue of her own car.
“But why my car?” she asked herself. “What would make him want to kill me?”
A twig cracked just behind her, and a deep male voice said, “Because I’ve always considered myself a truck man. Those damned little foreign cars all look alike to me.”
* * *
In the dining area, Ian poured a cup of coffee, as determined as he’d ever been in all his life.
On her way past with sandwiches, Jessie stopped and did a double take. Setting the tray on the nearby tabletop, she said, “Whoa, Ian. Are you all right? Because I haven’t seen a look that intense since I came downstairs right after you slugged your brother that morning at the house.”
“I’m not slugging anybody, but if Andrea thinks I’m giving up on her, she’s got another think coming.” He dumped enough sugar in the mug to make up for the lack of cream. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed’s heading to her—armed with fresh, hot caffeine.
Frowning at him, Jessie appeared not to notice his brother walk up behind her, the Rottweiler padding at his side.
“But she’s asked you for some space, right? Space to wrap her head around what’s happened?”
Zach stopped, with the half sandwich only inches from his mouth.
“Yeah, she has. And before you start on me about how I’m smothering her like my brother—”
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that. You don’t want to scare the woman so much she runs straight back to California to get away from the bad memories.”
“If she does, I’ll follow her. I’ll find work out there. I’ll do anything—”
“Or frighten her into entering the witness-protection program to get away from a psycho stalker. And in case I’m losing you here, Ian, I mean you, the way you sound right now.”
Did he really sound that unhinged when it came to Andrea? “Is it really so bad, Jessie? Knowing someone loves you so much that it’s making him a little crazy?”
Zach grimaced at the question, a pained look on his eyes as he awaited Jessie’s answer.
“I—I love your brother with all my heart and soul,” Jessie said, her words tinged with sadness. “I can’t remember how I ever lived without him, can’t imagine how I ever would again. But it is scary, wondering how far love can go before it’s all-consuming. Especially with—I haven’t even told Zach this yet, but...”
Ian waited patiently, but Zach’s restraint crumbled. “Told me what, Jessie? If your career means so much to you, please forget I ever said anything about you quitting. Let me work with you, find some way to help you make things safer for all of us, with no secrets and no holdouts. I know I’ve been an ass at times. I know I’ve been demanding. Just don’t leave me, Jessie. Give me another chance to get the most important thing in my life right.”
Jessie’s surprise at seeing him eased into a softer emotion that sent a flush rising to her cheeks. Slipping into his embrace, she said, “Of course, I’m not going to leave you, you big lug. What with all my deadlines and keeping up with Eden, somebody’s going to have to pitch in and take his turn changing diapers.”
Zach pulled away to stare at her face. “Diapers? Eden’s a long way past—”
She looked up at him, her green eyes glimmering. “I know I might’ve been a bit hard on you lately, but in my defense, the hormones—”
“Diapers?” Zach repeated, as if the word were foreign to him.
Ian laughed at the expression on his big brother’s face. “Who’s the blockhead now? She’s telling you she’s pregnant. Sounds like Eden’s going to be a big sister pretty soon.”
Jessie was nodding, smiling at him. “Lots and lots of diapers, Zach. At least, that’s what the doctor said when she found the heartbeats.” She held up first one and then a second finger. “Two heartbeats, two babies. But I guess you knew that twins run in my family.”
Ian clapped his dumbstruck brother on the shoulder before leaving the two to a joyful celebration.
He had a woman of his own to find, support and someday very soon claim for all of their forevers.
But first, he meant to get a cup of hot coffee in her, a reminder of the one she’d brought to begin their dialogue.
* * *
As Sheriff Canter moved in closer, Andrea reflexively backed away until she stood trapped against the SUV’s front door. The cut on her arm, the older bumps and bruises from her car wreck, all throbbed in time to the breakneck drumming of her heart. She fought not to look down at his hands, at least not at the one holding his drawn gun.
Canter clenched his jaw, his face looking monstrous with her flashlight illuminating his features from below. “It should’ve been mine, all of it. The natural gas find and the cattle, the house and all the land. I was the one who took care of her, you know, who saw to her all those years after those two good-for-nothing hell-raisers of hers lit out like the punks they were.”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” she asked, knowing that her best chance, her only chance, was to keep him talking, make him feel that he was, perhaps for the first time, being heard. From what Ian had told her about the Rayford family’s history, Andrea had no doubt, either, that two abused teenage boys, unable to get their mother to speak up on their behalf, had done what they’d had to to survive. “You took care of— You’re talking about Zach and Ian’s mother?”
His mouth twisted as he fought some internal battle. “Who else was there for her to call on, once the lord of the manor turned to roughing her up after those two losers were gone?”
Despite the icy terror ripping through her, Andrea felt a pang of sympathy for the proud and fragile Nancy Rayford. “So that was when he started hurting her, after the boys left?”
Rayford’s lip curled, revealing long, white teeth, along with his disgust. “Back when I was still a deputy, I got a disturbance call from The Cattleman in Marston—’bout the fanciest restaurant in these parts. He’d been in a mood over something, had gotten sloppy drunk before the bill came. When she tried to calm him down, get him to lower his voice and stop botherin’ everybody, what do you think that SOB did?”
She loosed a shuddering breath, his unfocused look telling he
r he didn’t really want an answer. That he had been biding his time for years, waiting for a chance to tell his story.
“He doubled up one of those big fists of his and popped that tiny woman, not a hundred pounds, in the eye. She cried and carried on but wouldn’t dream of pressing charges. She said later, though, how she’d liked the way I’d handled him, how I’d talked sense all respectful-like and without hurtin’ his pride so much he’d feel the need to take it out on her later.”
Canter closed his eyes, lost inside a memory. But when Andrea dared to take a step, the dark eyes widened, and his left hand shot out to block her escape. With his right, he pressed the barrel of his weapon against her ribs, aimed at her pounding heart.
She scarcely dared to breathe. One wrong move, and I’ll be the next one leaving in a body bag. Leaving the center and all the people here who needed her, but it was the image of Ian’s handsome face that filled her with regret for what might have been, if the two of them had only had time.
“I gave Mrs. Rayford my personal number that night,” Canter said. “And afterward, she called me now and then when things were getting out of hand.”
“Are things getting out of hand now, Sheriff Canter?” Andrea asked quietly. “Because I’m thinking there could be another way. A way to back this off, let everybody breathe a little like you did with him so well that first night.”
Canter scowled down at her and shook his head. “You don’t even look like Zach’s woman at all, not really. It’s just, what the hell were you doing out riding her horse anyway? And that car’s the same damned color. When I followed it off the ranch road, I thought—”
“But why Jessie?” Andrea asked, the fine hairs rising behind her neck. “Why would you want to—”
“Woman’s been asking questions all over the county, digging into things that’re none of her damned business. Not only that, but Nancy’s pretty sure the little bitch had been nosing through her emails, including one where I reminded her just how far I was willing to go to—to make sure he never beat on her again.”
Andrea stared at him, remembering having heard that Zach and Ian’s father had died of a heart attack about six months before Ian had gone missing. But something in Canter’s phrasing, in the hard look on his handsome face, struck her with the certainty there was far more to the story.
“The bitch has figured it out,” Canter said. “And I see it in your face she’s told you, hasn’t she? She told you all about it.”
Andrea shook her head emphatically. “The only thing Jessie said was she’d been looking at some campaign finance stuff on some North Texas politicians. But when I asked, she said she had nothing on you. Nothing.”
At his hesitation, a cold thrill chased through her nervous system. You’re thinking it though now, just how and where you want to kill me. Because I might’ve bought Jessie a reprieve, but you have to know you can’t possibly let me go. Not without risking everything.
Grabbing her by the arm, he ordered, “Open up that back door. We’re going for a little ride.”
“No!” she said, “That’s not necessary. Listen, Canter, I know how to keep my mouth shut. And anyway—”
He let go of her long enough to pull open the Tahoe’s back door. Long enough for her to glimpse the steel-mesh cage separating the SUV’s rear from the front-seat passenger. A structure meant for prisoners, who would have no access to door handles or window controls. Who would have no way of escaping as they were taken to the Trencher County Jail.
But Andrea had no illusions that she would make it that far. A man who’d spent his life patrolling this mostly rural county was bound to know of any number of rugged tracks and cattle paths, places where a body might lie undisturbed by anything but the buzzards and coyotes.
“Get on in there,” he said. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
Still resisting, she made a wild guess. “I think I understand. A person’s loyalty should be rewarded, right? And after you got rid of John Rayford for Nancy—”
“He had a heart attack. He really did. It was his own damned fault he happened to be stuffed inside a closet gagged and handcuffed when it happened. It was the only way to keep him from killing her without taking him to jail.”
“And Nancy Rayford knows about this?”
He nodded. “It was her idea to take off the hardware and the gag, give the man a little dignity in death. Spare her the embarrassment—”
“And spare you any kind of inquiry.”
Canter’s scowl deepened. “Get in now.” He shoved her toward the open door, pushing her hard enough to bang the side of her head.
That was when the first rock cracked against the driver’s side window. As Canter spun around, a second stone the size of a man’s palm smacked into his temple, eliciting a shout of pain and rage.
Andrea didn’t stop to question the miracle or wonder where the easily spooked Ty had found the courage. Seizing on the distraction, she bolted, making for the wooded area surrounding the pond. Between the trees and the darkness, she figured she might just stand a chance—at least if Sheriff Canter didn’t shoot her in the back.
* * *
“Go get help, kid, right now,” Ian had whispered urgently to the scared and skinny blond who’d come upon him in a panic. His stutter was so severe he’d gotten out little more than Andrea’s name before half dragging Ian to the parking lot, where Ty pointed out Canter having an intense conversation with Andrea next to the Tahoe.
“Find the deputies or another counselor,” Ian instructed as the two of them crouched behind a pickup, “anybody you can get out here in a hurry. If you can’t get the words out, just make some noise or knock someone down, anything to get ’em chasing you. You got that?”
Ty nodded and took off, but as squirrelly as the kid seemed, Ian had no idea if he’d go for help or race off to find another bolt-hole.
Tossing aside the mug of coffee he’d been carrying, Ian crept in closer, adrenaline flooding through his system. He couldn’t be sure what Canter was so angry with Andrea about, but clearly something was very wrong—something the lawman would just as soon keep to himself, judging from his furtive glances around, as if checking to see if anyone was coming.
When Ian made out the word bitch and then the sharpness of Andrea’s refusal, it was enough to get him moving, looking for sticks or rocks, anything he might use for a distraction. He hauled off and threw two good-size stones, giving Andrea the chance she needed to take off running.
“I’ll kill you!” Canter bellowed, blood trickling from his temple, as he spun and looked around wildly for mere seconds before cursing and then abruptly sprinting after Andrea instead.
Racing after him along the sidewalk, Ian could only hope the sheriff didn’t turn around and fire. But he’d rather take a bullet than allow the lawman to catch up with Andrea. Canter was so out of control that Ian had no doubt of his intention to kill or hurt her or anyone who got in his way.
Canter charged forward like a maddened bull, shouting at her, “Hold it now, or I swear to you I’ll—”
A security light gave Ian a glimpse of Andrea leaving the sidewalk that ringed the pond and making a beeline for a thick, dark grove of trees. But Canter clearly saw her, too, stopping to take aim at her back.
“No!” Ian bellowed, racing forward to leap at him.
Distracted by his shout, Canter whipped around and took a wild shot, close enough that Ian saw the flash and felt the bullet buzz past his ear like a wasp straight out of hell.
Before Canter could fire again, Ian struck him at chest level, taking them both down hard and knocking the gun out of Canter’s right hand. As he grabbed for it, Ian pounded his face, slugging him repeatedly and rolling both of them downhill and then into the cold water.
Canter used his legs, flipping Ian over. Catching him by the throat, he shouted, “
Rayford!” before driving his head beneath the shallow murk.
The water wasn’t a foot deep, but it would be enough, Ian realized as he bucked and flailed to free himself of the hand gripping his neck. Fighting for the surface, he instead sucked in a muddy mouthful and heard Andrea, far too close by, screaming, “Let him up! Let him breathe!”
Why the hell wasn’t she running, going to get help?
Choking and coughing, he wanted to shout at her to get out before Canter could finish him and then kill her, too. But Ian couldn’t do anything but thrash more and more weakly—until a last-ditch swing connected with the side of Canter’s head.
The lawman let go of Ian’s throat, allowing him to come up, still coughing. Canter scrabbled for shore, crawling on hands and knees for the gun knocked from his hand earlier.
Seeing his intention, Andrea, too, lunged for the weapon. But even if she reached it first, could she really bring herself to do what it would take to stop a man intent on killing them both?
A deep snarl was the only warning either of them had before a huge black-and-tan blur leaped at Canter. The Rottweiler clamped down on the sheriff’s arm, attacking with a ferocity that had him screaming as he fought to protect his face and neck—all thoughts of his weapon forgotten.
Andrea darted in to claim it, just as Jessie shouted, “Aus! Hier!”
Zach, standing just behind her, called, “Gretel,” and the dog broke off her attack and ran back to the two of them.
Chief Deputy Browning ran up behind them, his own weapon drawn as he yelled, “Hands up, all of you! Grab that animal before I shoot it, and drop that weapon, Dr. Warrington!”
“Shoot them, Browning!” Canter shouted, bleeding from a dozen places. “Kill every one of them right now!”
The deputy swung an incredulous look in his direction as two more of his fellow officers, along with Special Agent Chapal, hurried into view.
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