“We’re heading there.” Dallas tipped his head to the clump of oaks and hackberries.
Joelle nodded, but it was a wobbly one, and she was still shaking. Even though her eyes were no longer as glazed as they had been, he still wanted to get her to the hospital. Then he could make sure she was okay and have a blood test done to determine exactly what Owen had used to drug her.
Dallas didn’t wait for another hail of bullets. He got Joelle moving toward the trees. No shots, but he did hear at least one of the gunmen cursing.
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Marshal,” the man shouted.
Dallas wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the one playing here, but he didn’t want to waste his breath. Plus, the gunmen could use the sound of his voice to pinpoint their exact location in the bushes. Unlike the rocks, the underbrush wouldn’t give them much protection, and it was best not to do anything to get those bullets flying again.
He pointed to the next clump of trees and tipped his head to let Joelle know they were heading there next. Heck, if he had to, they’d just keep running and ducking behind the trees until they were all the way to the road.
“Joelle?” the man called out.
Great. Now the bozo was trying to bargain with a drugged woman. “Ignore him,” Dallas told her.
She did. Joelle moved when he moved, and they darted behind the next set of trees.
“Joelle?” the guy repeated. “I know you can hear me. So can the marshal. And I don’t think you’re going to want him to hear what I’m about to say.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dallas grumbled under his breath, and he got ready for their next round of evade and escape.
“I’m supposed to give you a message, Joelle,” the man continued, his voice practically echoing through the woods. “Come back to the church with us now, or I’m to tell the marshal your dirty little secret.”
Damn, the guy wasn’t giving up.
Dallas immediately dismissed what the man said. But Joelle didn’t. She sucked in her breath hard, and her eyes widened. She shook her head.
And Dallas’s stomach knotted.
Obviously, there was something to the dirty little secret threat. Part of him really wanted to know what had caused the color to drain from Joelle’s already too-pale face. But the other part of him didn’t want the guy to be able to use whatever he was trying to use to get her to cooperate.
“Let’s go,” Dallas insisted.
Joelle didn’t argue. She practically leaped up from the ground, and even though she was still shaky, she ran as if her life depended on it. She didn’t stop at the tree cluster, either. She kept moving and used the trees to help her stay on her feet.
“Running won’t help,” the man yelled. “One way or another, the marshal will find out what you did.”
Joelle looked over at him, the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Don’t ask, please,” she said when Dallas opened his mouth.
Oh, hell.
This couldn’t be good, but it was the worst possible time to push for information.
“The marshal will find out your secret,” the man shouted. It was harder to hear his voice now, but Dallas seemed to have no trouble making out every word. “And if you think he’ll protect you after he finds out what you did, you’re wrong, Joelle. Dead wrong.”
Chapter Six
Everything inside Joelle was swirling, and she couldn’t blame it entirely on the drugged drink. Those three words, dirty little secret, were repeating in her head just like the spray of bullets that the gunmen had fired into the rocks.
Mercy.
How had Owen learned that?
And better yet, how could she keep Dallas from asking her about it?
If he figured out the truth, it certainly wouldn’t help matters. No way. Joelle needed to hurry to town so she could talk to Owen and try to defuse this situation before it blew up in all their faces.
“Keep moving,” Dallas reminded her, and he shoved aside some low hanging tree limbs while he made another check over his shoulder.
Joelle checked, too, but she couldn’t see the gunmen. That was something at least, but she knew that any second the bullets could start flying again.
They ran for what seemed like an eternity, and the woods and underbrush got even thicker. The bushes scraped at her robe and skin, reminders that she wasn’t dressed for a trek through the wild. Of course, she hadn’t planned on spending her day like this since she should have been standing in front of the altar by now.
So much for that plan.
Even over the roaring in her ears, Joelle heard something. Dallas apparently did, too, because he stopped so abruptly that she plowed right into him. He eased back more branches, and she saw the road.
And the truck.
The fear slammed through her again because she thought it could be one of Owen’s men, but Dallas stepped out onto the road and flagged down the driver. When the truck braked to a stop, Joelle saw the familiar face behind the wheel.
Marshal Clayton Caldwell.
She’d not only known him for years since their time together at the Rocky Creek Children’s Facility, he was also Dallas’s foster brother.
“I’ve been out looking for you,” Clayton said, his eyes widening a little when his gaze landed on her. “Didn’t figure on seeing you, Joelle.”
Not exactly a warm greeting, but then she hadn’t expected warmth from any of Kirby’s boys. Still, a frosty welcome was much better than facing the gunmen. But it didn’t mean she was safe.
None of them were.
Dallas practically pushed her into the cab of the truck and moved her over so he could follow on the passenger’s side. He kept watch of the surrounding woods. Kept his gun ready, too.
“There are three armed men probably following us,” Dallas told his brother as Clayton made a quick call to let someone know that he’d found them. As soon as he finished, they sped away. “I need them brought in for questioning.”
“Declan, Slade and Wyatt are all out looking,” Clayton explained. “Can’t contact them because they’re in dead zones, but if the men are still out there, they’ll find them. These guys took shots at you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dallas confirmed. “But I’m not sure they were actually trying to kill us. They kept wanting me to turn Joelle over to them, and while we were running, they probably had a chance or two to mow us down and didn’t.”
Until then, Joelle hadn’t realized that. And maybe it didn’t matter. Even though the gunmen might not have been trying to kill them, Dallas and she could have still been hit by one of those bullets.
“All hell’s breaking loose back in town,” Clayton said. “Owen’s at the marshal’s office claiming you kidnapped Joelle.”
“I did,” Dallas admitted at the same moment that Joelle answered, “He didn’t.”
Dallas looked at her and frowned.
“Someone drugged me,” Joelle explained. “And Dallas removed me from the scene so he could question me and make sure I wasn’t in danger.”
Dallas’s left eyebrow slid up.
“Owen already has enough to burn us,” she mumbled. “I’m not giving him more.”
Besides, she had to work out some kind of truce with Owen, and it wouldn’t help any of them if Owen was hell-bent on arresting Dallas for kidnapping.
Dallas didn’t take his attention off her. “Does this have something to do with the dirty little secret?”
“No,” she snapped, but inside she was repeating, Oh, God. She couldn’t deal with this now.
Clayton glanced at both of them, then at her engagement ring. “So, you’re marrying Owen?” There was a boatload of suspicion and skepticism in his tone. “Never took you two for a love match. Always figured you’d end up with Dallas if he could ever forgive you for walking out on him.”
“I don’t forgive,” Dallas grumbled. “And it’s not a love match. Joelle’s marrying the moron because he claims to have a knife with my prints and Webb’s blood.”
Joe
lle hadn’t expected for Dallas just to blurt it out like that, but then she remembered this wasn’t just his foster brother but a fellow marshal. He trusted Clayton. Heck, so did she.
To a point.
But neither of them was going to be able to defuse this Owen bomb. She could.
Well, maybe.
“She’s marrying Owen to keep you from being arrested,” Clayton concluded under his breath. “How’d your prints get on the knife?”
At least he hadn’t asked if Dallas was guilty of murder. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Or maybe he knew unequivocally that his foster brother was innocent.
Joelle certainly hadn’t given Dallas the benefit of the doubt. And look where that had gotten her.
Dallas shook his head. “I’m sure I handled a knife or two during my time at Rocky Creek.”
“Yeah, we all did,” Clayton admitted. “I remember for a while there you kept one under your pillow when Webb was gunning so hard for Declan.”
That brought the old memories flooding back. Joelle hadn’t known about the knife, but she did know that Dallas and the others were often put in positions where they had to protect Declan. What Joelle had never understood was why Webb had had it in for Declan. And why Declan had never seemed to be able to back down even when Webb was basically assaulting him.
“You got a look at the knife?” Clayton asked, and it took a moment to realize he was talking to her.
Joelle nodded, but when she didn’t say more, Dallas huffed. “If you know whose knife it is, now’s the time to tell me.”
It wasn’t the time. Not with the adrenaline pumping through her and the drug hazing her mind. Still, he had to know. “It’s a hunting knife with a black wood handle. It has one of those hooked tips.”
Clayton and Dallas exchanged glances. “A gut hook,” Dallas supplied. He didn’t add more, but Joelle was certain that he recalled seeing a knife like that.
On Kirby.
His foster father had come to Rocky Creek a lot, and one time he’d taken the boys hunting. Joelle hadn’t gone with them, but she remembered that knife, or one similar to it, in a leather sheath that Kirby had attached to his belt.
“A lot of people have knives like that,” Dallas grumbled. And the silence settled uncomfortably between them.
“Saul’s in the office with Owen,” Clayton said a moment later.
Yet something else to make them uncomfortable. Saul Warner, Dallas’s boss. Joelle had never met the man, but she figured it wasn’t a good sign that the head marshal had been brought in on this. Of course, Owen would have seen to it. This was no doubt the beginning of the end.
Owen would bring Dallas down.
Her, too. And any of Dallas’s foster family he could take with them.
Yes, Owen was guilty of criminal activity, but those charges wouldn’t be nearly as serious as murder—unless they could connect Owen to those gunmen in the woods. Joelle was betting that wouldn’t be easy to prove.
No.
Yet another reason why she had to work on a truce with Owen.
“Joelle needs to go to the hospital,” Dallas said as they reached the edge of town.
“No. Go to the marshals’ office.” Owen already had the jump on them. Heck, he might even be working out some kind of truce with Saul Warner, and she didn’t want to waste any time getting to him.
Dallas frowned. “I’ll call the hospital and have them send a medic to do a blood test.”
Good. Then maybe she could use the results to somehow rein in Owen. It wasn’t as good as an incriminating knife, but it was something.
Clayton drove to the marshal’s headquarters on Main Street and parked in the lot adjacent to the building. It was only when Joelle hurried out of the vehicle that she remembered she was wearing a robe and slippers. Hardly the attire for what would no doubt turn out to be an official interview, but there was no time to change.
A wave of dizziness came over her again as they crossed the parking lot, and like before, Dallas caught her arm. Supporting her. Just as he’d been doing for most of their ordeal. She couldn’t let it continue. It’d be too easy to slip back into old ways and feelings. Best if she kept an emotional and physical distance, and that’s why she moved away from him.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he grumbled. Her gaze flew to his. “About the secret,” he added. “You will explain that to me later.”
No, she wouldn’t. But since it would only cause an argument or make him more suspicious to say that, Joelle kept quiet.
While they made their way up the stairs, Dallas called the hospital and requested a medic. He kept it short and sweet, which was a good thing because the moment they stepped into the marshals’ office, she spotted Owen talking to the lanky fifty-something man.
Marshal Saul Warner.
Another of Dallas’s foster brothers, Harlan McKinney, was there, as well. He, too, gave her an icy welcome, and all three turned toward Dallas, Clayton and her.
“Joelle,” Owen said on a rush of breath. “You’re okay.” He hurried over to her and would have pulled her into his arms if Dallas hadn’t stepped between them.
“She’s okay, no thanks to you,” Dallas challenged.
Joelle couldn’t agree more. She wavered between being outraged that Owen had attempted to hug her and shocked as to why he would, but she tamped down both emotions.
“We have to talk,” she told Owen. “In private.” Groveling was a distinct possibility, but she needed to make sure Owen didn’t blab anything to Marshal Warner.
“You can forget that in private request,” Dallas snarled before turning to Owen. “You drugged Joelle.”
Owen flinched. “What are you talking about?”
That earned him a groan from Dallas. “The Jack Daniel’s that you sent to her dressing room was drugged, and you damn well know it.”
“I didn’t,” he answered quickly. Owen cursed, shook his head and appeared as if he were trying to wrap his mind around something so impossible. “Wait.” His gaze flew to Marshal Warner. “If someone drugged her, it was probably Lindsey Downing. She works for me and is Joelle’s friend—”
“Yes, it was Lindsey,” Joelle volunteered.
“Don’t cover for him,” Dallas warned her.
Joelle had to cover. There was no other choice here. “Lindsey could be jealous.” And that was the truth. “I think she’s in love with Owen.”
Dallas gave her a flat look. “Then why the hell was she your bridesmaid?”
She wanted to postpone this explanation, but all four men had their full attention aimed at her. “The wedding was put together hastily. And Lindsey helped. It was too short notice for any of my friends to attend, so Lindsey asked if she could be in the wedding party.” Besides, Joelle hadn’t wanted her real friends to know what she was doing. Her plan had been to make the marriage as short as possible until she could get her hands on any and all evidence that would send Owen to jail without retaliation against her, Dallas or his family.
“What about the knife?” Marshal Warner asked.
Joelle could have sworn her stomach dropped to her knees. She looked at Owen, hoping and praying that the marshal meant some other knife, but Owen only gave her a smug glance.
The SOB. He’d ratted them out.
She silently cursed. “What about it?” she asked, not wanting to volunteer anything. She also hoped that Dallas wouldn’t, either.
“What knife?” Harlan asked.
“It might be the weapon that killed Jonah Webb,” Owen volunteered.
She gave Owen a look that she wished could have turned him to dust. Joelle could only stand there and brace herself for the worst.
“According to Mr. Palmer here,” Warner said, “the knife has some possible evidence that could link it to Jonah Webb’s death.”
Possible and could. So, Owen hadn’t spilled all. Maybe because he thought he could still use it to control her. He definitely wanted to neutralize the possibility of her testifying against him.
Marshal Warner made a sound that could have meant anything, and the silence began again. Joelle waited for Dallas’s boss to ask her about the test she’d had run. The test that had made her an accomplice in all of this. But he didn’t say a word about it. Neither did Owen.
“How’d you get this knife?” Clayton asked Owen, and it wasn’t a friendly request for information. Obviously, he disliked Owen as much as Dallas did.
“Someone sent it to me,” Owen readily answered. “It was in a plastic bag inside a box with no return address, but postmarked from San Antonio.”
Joelle glared at him. He’d told her that he’d found the knife in Webb’s office, which meant he was lying then.
Or now.
Dallas glared, too. Shifted his position. Put his hands on his hips. “Any reason you didn’t turn this knife over to the authorities the moment you got it?”
Owen lifted his shoulder. “I didn’t realize what it was at the time. There was no note. No explanation. I put it in a safe-deposit box and was trying to find out who had sent it and why. Now, mind you, it wasn’t a top priority since I was planning my wedding to Joelle.”
“Right,” Dallas said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Let me put that in my I’m not buying it file.”
Owen ignored that and turned back to Marshal Warner. “Then yesterday I got another package. No return address again and also postmarked from San Antonio. There was a typed note inside that said the traces of blood on the knife are Webb’s and the prints belong to...Joelle.”
Joelle couldn’t stop the gasp that came from her mouth, but she clamped her teeth over her bottom lip so that she wouldn’t blurt out that Owen had just told a whopper. She’d had the knife tested, and those were Dallas’s prints.
Not hers.
Everything inside her was yelling for her to come clean with the head marshal. Not to clear her name but because Owen was weaving some kind of spider web here, and if she withheld info about the tests she’d run, she could be helping Owen with whatever stupid plan he was now concocting.
However, if she spoke up, she’d have to admit the tests she’d run. She’d have to admit that Dallas’s prints were on the knife. She would also have to confess to withholding evidence in a murder case. She’d be arrested along with Dallas.
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