Sam nodded to himself. He knew her father had cancer. “Yeah. Thanks, partner. I owe you big-time.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll collect.”
Sam hung up. It was past time to get out of here. He felt marginally better knowing he had two good cops in his corner, but the last thing he wanted was to be trapped here and made the prime suspect in Bill’s death, as well. He headed for the stairs.
Marly’s bedroom door was closed when he reached the landing. He stared at the silent wood, debating. It had been hours since he’d seen her. He knew she’d been exhausted. She’d probably gone inside to lie down and rest. He’d pack first, then he’d wake her. He never questioned that he would tell her he was leaving.
He turned to his own room and opened the door. Marly was asleep on his bed.
“Damn.”
She didn’t stir. She lay on her side, facing him, her creamy skin devoid of makeup. She didn’t need artifice, he decided. She had a natural beauty that stirred a man’s blood. Her soft peach lips drew his gaze, as always.
Sam sighed and turned away, heading for the dresser. As he began shoving his meager belongings into his duffel bag, he studied her reflection in the mirror. She wore a pink cotton shirt and a clean pair of denims, both of which hugged every delectable curve of her body. Her hair, long and loose, spilled over one shoulder. He would carry that image away with him, as well.
Her eyes blinked open. “Sam?”
He turned, zipping the bag.
“You’re leaving?”
It was hard—harder than it should have been. “Yes.”
She sat up, the imprint of his pillow on her left cheek. She looked flushed and tousled, and so fragile that it hurt.
“Why?”
“Marly—”
“What do they want you for?”
Her question didn’t surprise him. He ran a rough hand over his scratchy jaw. “Murder.”
Her mouth opened. She closed it as she regarded him steadily, and then her head moved slowly from side to side. “You didn’t do it.”
That bare statement plundered his ulcer, setting fire to his stomach. “How can you say that? What if I did?”
“Then it was self-defense.”
“Marly—”
Her gaze was unswerving. “I know you, Sam. I’ve watched you. You wouldn’t murder anyone.”
Her absolute belief stunned him as nothing else could have. She was too honest and trusting for her own good. “Jesus! You don’t know anything. You barely know me. For all you know, I killed Porterfield.”
Marly didn’t flinch. Her eyes held steady on him. “Did you?”
Sam uttered an expletive. “I don’t believe this. What do you think?”
Marly sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Anger to match his own spit from her eyes. “I think that since you’ve shown up at my farm I’m in more trouble than I’ve ever been in my whole life.”
“Look, I’m sorry about that, but—”
“Oh, sorry, are you? Well, you can stick that in your duffel bag too, cowboy. I went to bat for you down there.”
“I never asked—”
“No, you didn’t. But my life’s going down the tubes here, Sam, and I damn well don’t deserve your anger. You knew Porterfield. I heard you when you found him. You were shocked.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry about your friend. Is your name really Joe?”
He swore again, viciously.
“Talk to me. Let me help you. We can help each other.” She stood and walked toward him.
“You can’t help me, and all I can do is cause you more trouble. You shouldn’t have lied to the cops. I shouldn’t have let you. They’re going to be all over you when they find out I’m gone.”
“Why did you come here?”
The question stopped him when he would have pushed past her. “I needed a place to hide.”
“No. It was more than that. Chris recognized you, didn’t he? I saw it when Duncan pulled up after the grass fire.”
He tensed, unwittingly. “Marly, you’re too observant for your own good. Is that why you lied? To protect me? They’re going to be wild when they find out.”
“How will they find out, unless you tell them?”
“Don’t you understand? The police will descend on this place like charging elephants after I leave. You don’t want to know anything more than what they tell you.”
She shook her head, her long hair swinging gently. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Don’t be so sure. Why did you come here?” Her demand was impatient this time.
Sam knew he should walk out the door without another word. George was probably pulling up the long driveway while he stood here. But one look at her stubborn face and he knew he couldn’t walk away without giving her some explanation. “I needed Chris.”
That rocked her. “Why?”
“He’s the only witness to the murder.”
“My God, Sam, he’s just a boy.”
“In the city, boys grow up real fast.”
She nodded weary agreement. “Is he going to help you?”
“He’s a scared kid, Marly.”
“Is that why he ran away?”
Sam shrugged, hating the question, because it was one he kept asking himself. “Probably. Either that or he saw something else that night that scared him.”
“The person with the goat?”
“Maybe. I just don’t know.”
The frown faded beneath the resolute expression that set her lips in a decisive line. “Come on. We’ll put your duffel bag in the truck, so you can leave from the hospital once you talk to Chris.”
He shook his head. “I’m going out the back way, on foot. They’ll be watching me—”
“They’ll be watching us as we run Chris’s belongings into town before he’s discharged,” she said, interrupting him. “He isn’t coming back, you know. As soon as they release him, he’s going to stay with an aunt in Ohio.”
“Ohio!”
“Do you want to talk to him or not, Sam?”
“Marly, I can’t let you risk—”
“Life’s a risk. Besides, if I’m not here, maybe the authorities will wait a little longer before they close me down.”
Her pained expression tore at him. He hadn’t thought about it, but she was right. Between Chris getting injured and Porterfield being murdered, the authorities would have little recourse but to pull the kids from her program.
“Marly, I’m sorry. I should never have involved you or—”
“Come on. We won’t have to sneak. You walk out to the truck, and I’ll let someone in authority know where we’re going. Emma will keep an eye on the boys until I get back.”
“Marly, it isn’t even seven o’clock in the morning. I don’t think anyone is going to buy our going to the hospital to visit Chris at this hour.”
“You’d be amazed. I can be very persuasive.”
She had that nght. He must be completely exhausted. That was the only reason he could think of to be contemplating going with her—if George didn’t arrive and stop him.
“They’re releasing Chris at ten. We have to get there early if we want to see him.”
“Marly—”
“Put your hat on. Your scar is showing.”
He’d have to stop underestimating this woman. Her ex-husband must have been a total jerk to let her escape.
Fifteen minutes later, they were in her truck, tooling down the twisty two-lane road. Sam released a sigh as he shifted gears.
“What sort of work do you really do, Sam?”
He gave her an amused grin. “You don’t believe I’m a ranch hand?”
“Not with your allergy.”
“Maybe that’s why I came east. Maybe the allergy was getting so bad I thought I could take a break, find a decent allergist and go back when I had it under control.”
“Are you telling me that’s the truth?”
He found her eyes watching him steadily and discovered
he couldn’t lie to her anymore. “No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
Her complacent reaction disturbed him. “Why not?”
“Your hands lack the right calluses, and you could barely walk after riding a horse for half an hour. That’s not a man used to ranching, Sam.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a while.”
“Uh-huh. So what do you really do?”
“When I’m not being framed for murder, I’m a cop.”
Her silence deafened him. He shot her a glance. The frightening mix of expressions on her face provoked his ulcer. Was she horrified? Angry? Relieved? Sam pulled off to the side of the road. Marly didn’t even seem to notice. “What’s wrong?”
She wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he could tell something was very wrong.
“Marly, what is it?” He reached for her hand and found it icy-cold to the touch. “Look, I know you probably don’t have any reason to love cops, but we’re not all like Duncan, you know.”
She did look at him then. Her eyes were dark, fathomless pools. “Oh, I know, Sam. I was married to one. Some of you are worse.”
“So that’s it.” He released her fingers, pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath. “Great. Just great.”
“I don’t think so.”
The edge to her words brought his eyes back to her face. “What’s that supposed to mean? Look, I’m not going to apologize for what I do. I’m a cop. I’m proud to be a cop. It’s a job I’m good at, and—”
“You don’t have to sell your work to me. I know all about the brotherhood of policemen.”
This time there was something missing from her tone. It didn’t contain the anger or frustration he expected. It was almost devoid of emotion. Sort of the way she had spoken to Duncan that first day. A prickle of anxiety worked its way up his spine.
“You want to tell me what’s going on here, Marly?”
“You don’t get it, do you, Sam?”
“Obviously not. What am I supposed to be getting?”
“Tell me about the murder.”
“Marly—”
“Just humor me, okay?”
He was spooked. She had such an odd expression on her face. All his alarm bells were going off, but for the life of him, Sam couldn’t figure out why.
Haltingly, he told her about Rayback. He told her how they had set things up to catch Rayback with the evidence and how the money had gone missing. She never said a word, and her eyes didn’t waver from his face.
It was hard, but he told her about the other officers who were suspects, about Bill and Lee and how later—after the murder—some of the evidence had been found in Sam’s own apartment.
Then he told her about that night. About his gun being switched. “Ballistics proved my gun was the one that killed Rayback. I was holding it when they found me. My prints were the only ones on it. In my favor was the fact it was the only weapon at the scene and it was obvious I had been shot, too.” He touched the scar on his head.
“Wouldn’t that prove you didn’t do it?”
“I wish. They had several theories, but their favorite was that I hadn’t acted alone. Thank God Lee had a cast-iron alibi for the time period.”
Marly was quiet for a moment. “How did Chris come to be at the scene?”
“That’s one of the questions I plan to ask him.”
He told her about Chris and the shadowy figure who’d done the shooting. He told her of his own escape from the hospital when he’d realized where the questions were heading and that the investigation wasn’t focusing on anyone else. Then he told her how his captain had identified Chris as the possible witness. How Sam’s efforts to track the boy had led directly to her place.
Marly sat quietly, her hands folded almost primly in her lap. A cardinal flew across the road, its noisy cry startling him.
He wished he hadn’t eaten breakfast. The coffee burned in the back of his throat. His stomach churned in an attempt to deal with the worst case of nerves he had suffered from in a long time. Why didn’t she say something? Why did she look so odd?
“The thing I don’t understand,” Sam said pensively, “is why Porterfield sent Chris to your horse farm. He must have known Chris would recognize him as the murderer.”
Marly’s face clearly showed her shock. “You think Officer Porterfield was the one who shot you and killed—?”
“Who else? The captain said it had to be one of the four of us. According to Bill himself, we were the only ones with the opportunity inside the evidence room. Now Bill’s been murdered, and I’m conveniently at hand—again.”
Marly stared at him.
“Don’t worry,” he snarled, gripping the steering wheel. “You don’t have to look so scared. You aren’t the next victim.”
“I never thought that, Sam. Not for a minute. I know you didn’t kill anyone.”
“Will you stop saying that? You can’t possibly know that. You don’t know anything about me.” He stared at the road, fighting panic. “I couldn’t be sitting in a more indefensible position.”
“You don’t know who Rayback was, do you, Sam?” she asked finally.
“Kind of an odd question, isn’t it?”
“No, not really. They didn’t release the information.”
He stared at her, wondering anew at her strange expression. “How would you know information about a murder that wasn’t released?” Aggravation sharpened his voice. “What’s going on here, Marly? What sort of game are you playing?” Fear gnawed at him. There was an undercurrent here that he didn’t understand.
Her eyes clouded in sorrow. “It’s no game, Sam. I know all about the murder. As his next of kin, they had to tell me.”
He stared at her. “What did you say?” The words sounded raw. That was just how he felt.
“The police asked me to keep the information to myself until they were ready to release the whole story. Until they caught you.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t her calm statement. His weary mind focused on one fact. “You’re Rayback’s next of kin?”
Her words echoed in his head. She was related to Rayback? How could she be related to a slimy piece of work like that?
She nodded.
Sam was suspicious of coincidence. Any good cop was. Yet here he was, facing an entire string of them. He had arrived at Marly’s place with no clue that she was related to the victim—or that Porterfield was the one who had sent Chris to her horse farm. His stomach churned as he considered the ramifications.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she asked.
“Oh, I get it okay. They’re going to fry me for murder. What was he, your brother, uncle, cousin—what?”
“Worse, Sam. He was my husband.”
Chapter Eight
“My God, and you told the cops I was sleeping with you.”
Marly was stunned. Sam’s response—so unlike her ex-husband’s—made clear his first thoughts were concern for her. When would he make the terrible connection that was suddenly all too clear to her?
“What does what I told the police have to do with anything?” she demanded. “I was trying to help you.”
Sam or Joe, or whatever his name really was, put the car back in gear. “I’d say you helped, all right. We’ll be lucky if this case even gets to trial.”
Marly reached out and touched his jacketed arm, aware once again of the strength of this man. “I don’t understand. You should be glad I told them we were together. At least I’ve given you an alibi for last night’s killing.”
“And yourself a motive for being an accessory to murder,” he said tersely.
Stunned, she stared at his stern profile. “How do you figure that?”
“If you and I were lovers, as the police believe, I’d have an even better reason for helping you get rid of your ex.”
Marly withdrew her hand. “That’s crazy. I was already nd of him.�
�
“Did you get a good settlement?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Apprehension sharpened her tone, because the answer was a resounding no. It was one of the reasons she was in a financial bind this year. She’d been so anxious to get rid of Matt after discovering his countless infidelities, she hadn’t listened to her lawyer’s advice. She’d only wanted her husband to disappear from her life. Him and his chronic lying, cheating ways. Even now, she didn’t regret that decision.
“From your silence, I’ll take that as a no. How long have you been divorced?”
“Officially? Seven months.”
“Did he have a will?”
She stared at him. “Sam, what are you getting at?” But she was very much afraid she knew the answer.
“These questions are the same ones the cops will use to build a case against us.”
“Us?”
“As in you and me, kid. As in collusion to collect his insurance and anything he might have left you in a will.”
Marly gasped. “That’s crazy!”
“No will?”
Nerves hammered at her. “Matt did have a will,” she admitted reluctantly. “We had them drawn up shortly after we were married.”
Sam groaned. “Making each other beneficiaries, right?”
Her heart thumped painfully. “He could have changed his.”
“Like you did?”
Of course she hadn’t. She hadn’t even thought about the blasted wills. Odds were Matt hadn’t, either.
“I’ll take that as another no.”
“Sam, he wasn’t rich. No one would believe that I—that you and I…”
Of course they would. Sam was good-looking, in a virile way that would attract any normal woman. Last night, the two of them had nearly ended up on his bed. She hadn’t exactly been pushing him away. Sam was right. She’d given the officers a reason to believe they were sleeping together. “No! It’s completely crazy. I didn’t even know you before my divorce.”
“Tell it to the investigators.”
His pithy tone silenced her. Had she really set herself up as a murder suspect? Sam painted a grim picture.
“Damn!”
His sudden curse drew her eyes to his lean thighs and the long leg that was pumping the brake pedal. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong with the brakes?”
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