by Linda Warren
“Yeah. Seems Mr. Townsend just bought her a new Corvette and she was trying it out. Someone pulled alongside her and shot her through the window. The windows are tinted, so the shooter couldn’t see his victim too well. I figure he got the wrong woman.”
“What are you saying?” Fear slammed into his stomach.
“The shooter was after C.J. is my guess. Probably thought he had her alone, away from Pete and Harry, and he seized his chance.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“It all fits. Who’d want Stephanie Cox dead? C.J.’s the one whose life has been threatened. Our shooter’s in Coberville and he’s not leaving until the job’s done. I went by the Watson place to warn them, but wasn’t a soul around.”
“They’re hauling Mr. McIntosh’s calves to the auction.”
“That’s in the middle of nowhere. I guess she’s safe enough.”
“Or it might be the perfect place to finish a job. By now the shooter probably knows he’s made a mistake.”
“You could be right, but I can’t get loose just yet. I’ve got my hands full with this Cox murder and the Townsends, but I’ll have a deputy free as soon as C.J. gets back into town.”
“That may be too late, Sheriff. I’m going out there to make sure she’s okay.”
“Fine. That’ll put my mind at ease.”
Matthew hung up and headed for the door. He had to find C.J., and fast.
He climbed into his truck and drove toward the outskirts of town. Raised in Coberville, he knew all the back roads. He turned onto Boggs and drove for what seemed like hours as the old road twisted between one thicket and the next. Nothing much lived out here except wildlife.
Behind him dust swirled like dark clouds, and the truck bounced on the uneven dirt road. Hell on the suspension, but he didn’t care. He had to get to C.J.
As he drove, he thought of Stephanie and her desire to be different, to be something more than she was. Such a loss. He and C.J. had to solve the mystery of her birth before someone else got hurt.
His nerves were taut by the time he saw a small white house—the McIntosh place. An old man in overalls and a straw hat walked toward him with the aid of a cane.
Matthew parked the truck and hurried over to him. “I’m looking for C. J. Doe,” he said.
Mr. McIntosh eyed him from behind thick wire-rimmed glasses. “She’s in the bottom, loading my calves.”
“Thanks,” Matthew said, and turned back to his truck.
“You’ll never make it in that,” the old man told him.
Matthew stopped. “Why not?”
“Need a four-wheel drive to cross Boggs Creek. It’s up after the rain we had last week.”
Matthew smacked the side of the truck. “Damn!”
The old man watched him for a moment, then said, “Come on, I’ll take you in my Jeep.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it,” Matthew said, walking to the dilapidated vehicle. The frame was so rusted that when he climbed in the passenger side, he could actually see the ground through the floorboards.
It took the old man a while to get in behind the wheel, but soon the engine sputtered to life and they were off.
They charged around the barn and then through a cornfield and finally hit a road, all without slowing down. Mr. McIntosh squinted to see through a windshield splattered with mud.
“You’re Judge Sloan’s boy, aren’t you?” Mr. McIntosh shouted above the roar of the engine.
“Yes,” Matthew answered with a smile. Judge Sloan’s boy. Growing up, he’d hated people calling him that; he realized now that he’d been running away from it all these years, trying to make his own identity. But he didn’t need another identity; he already had one. He was Judge Sloan’s boy from Coberville, Texas, and nothing was ever going to change that. Hell, he didn’t want to change it. He was proud to be Matt Sloan’s boy.
In searching for her identity C.J. had helped him realize how important his own was. For the past few years he’d felt a restlessness, and he finally knew why. All his life he’d been trying to prove something—but he understood now that he didn’t have to prove anything to himself and certainly not to his parents. They loved him unconditionally.
“Good man,” Mr. McIntosh muttered.
“The best.” Matthew’s smile deepened. The very best, he said to himself.
As they came to Boggs Creek, Mr. McIntosh shouted, “Hold on,” and the Jeep plunged in.
They hit the water with a splash and Matthew gripped the sideboard. The creek rose midway up the wheels, but that didn’t faze the old man as he whizzed through the water and mud, which splashed onto the windshield and all over the Jeep.
As they climbed the opposite bank, the old man still didn’t stop, just pointed to a rag on the floorboard. “Better wipe the windshield, boy. I can’t see diddly squat.”
Matthew grabbed the rag and holding the windshield with one hand, he wiped with the other. The wind whipped through his hair and the rough ride jostled his body, but he managed to get the job done.
Sinking back in his seat, he gave the man a dark look, but Mr. McIntosh was busy contemplating the road. Through twists and turns, they finally roared into a clearing and there was C.J., along with Pete and Harry. She was safe; that was all he cared about.
Pete already had his trailer loaded with calves bawling for their mothers. C.J. was leading her horse into the back of her trailer with more calves. She slammed the gate shut and locked it, then caught sight of the Jeep.
Thunder suddenly rumbled in the distance, making the calves jumpy. “Tell them they’d better get out of here before the rain starts,” Mr. McIntosh instructed, shifting gears as Matthew climbed out. In a roar he was gone.
C.J. watched Matthew as he walked closer, wondering what he was doing out here in this weather. As he reached her, lightning streaked the sky, followed by a clap of thunder.
“Load up, girl, we’re outa here,” Pete called, climbing into Harry’s truck.
“Come on, city man.” C.J. smiled, noting his disheveled appearance. “I’ll give you the ride of your life.”
Settling into the passenger side, he said, “Old man McIntosh beat you to it.” He brushed mud from his shirt, glad he’d changed into casual clothes. “The guy uses that Jeep as a weapon.”
“You’ll live.” Her smile broadened as she started the truck. Pete and Harry pulled away and she shifted into gear, slowly following them across the field.
Matthew glanced back at the trailer-load of calves and marveled at her competence. She was so slim, so feminine, yet she handled the truck with the ease of any man.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here in the middle of your workday?” she asked. “Did you find out something about Martha?”
He took a deep breath, combed his hands through his hair and told her the events of the morning.
“Stephanie Cox is dead?” she asked in a faint voice, negotiating her truck and trailer onto the road.
“Yes.”
“Someone else dead because of me,” she murmured sadly. “The nightmare’s starting all over again.”
“That’s why I came. I had to make sure you were safe.”
“My knight in shining armor,” she said. “Thank you.” But he knew she was upset from the way she white-knuckled the steering wheel.
They turned a corner and saw a man standing by a brown pickup, waving his arms.
“What the hell?” Matthew exclaimed.
“He must need help,” she said, slowing.
“Don’t stop,” he ordered.
“Why not?”
“Do you know him?”
C.J. peered through the windshield. “No.”
“Evidently he wasn’t here when Pete and Harry went by. So where did he come from that quick? Just keep going. If he’s in trouble, we’ll send someone back to help him. It’s just too dangerous to stop.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, picking up speed. As they reached the man, they both watched in horror a
s he pulled out a gun and started shooting. The bullets hit the side of the truck with a sound that equaled the thunder.
“My God, it’s him,” Matthew yelled. “Can you speed up?”
Through the side mirrors they could see the man climbing into his truck. “He’s coming. God, not again.” Matthew groaned, feeling they’d been through this already and wondering if, this time they’d make it out alive.
C.J. concentrated on keeping the truck and trailer going as fast as was safely possible. The truck hit a hole and bounced sideways, but she managed to control it, bringing it back onto the road.
Suddenly raindrops spattered against the windshield. Lightning ripped across the sky, and the floodgates opened.
“Oh, no!” she cried, turning on the windshield wipers.
“If this keeps up, we won’t be able to make it across Boggs Creek.”
“Maybe Pete and Harry will be waiting for us.”
“I don’t think so. They’re going to get those calves out as fast as they can. They know I can manage on my own.”
Matthew saw the brown truck gaining on them. “Do you have a rifle in here?”
“No. The guns are in Harry’s truck.”
He leaned forward. “Can you see through this downpour?” he asked as rain blanketed the windshield. The frantic to and fro of the wipers was futile now.
“Barely,” she answered, bringing the truck and trailer to a stop on the bank of the creek.
“Damn!” he breathed in disbelief. The rain had let up enough in the past minute so he could actually see the creek. “It looks like it’s risen a foot since I crossed it with McIntosh. Can we make it?”
She shifted into first gear, her eyes on the brown truck behind them. “We don’t have a choice,” she said. “If you believe in God, this might be a good time to pray.”
“C.J.—”
“We’re going across,” she said with determination.
“I’m not making this easy for him.”
“Okay, I’m with you,” he told her.
Luckily the rain had diminished to a drizzle and visibility was better. The truck inched into the creek and Matthew held his breath. Water was coming in through the bottom of the door. As it reached the calves, they bellowed and moved around in fear. The trailer started to sway.
“C.J.!” he shouted.
She shifted into second gear. “We’re not done yet.” Her foot hit the gas pedal and the engine sputtered in protest, but miraculously kept going, pulling them and the trailer onto the bank in an explosion of water and sound the like of which he’d never heard before. Without a pause, C.J. hit third gear and the truck responded, taking them farther and farther—to safety.
“He’s not coming across,” Matthew said, as the brown truck stopped on the other side of the creek.
“Thank God,” she replied. She kept the truck moving at a steady speed.
“You were wonderful.” He touched her cheek.
“Don’t compliment me now. We have to get off this dirt road before it becomes impassable.”
“Whatever you say.” He laughed, releasing the pent-up tension. He didn’t even protest when they left his truck behind in the farmyard.
As C.J. negotiated the muddy road, the weather cleared and made driving easier. When they got to the highway, Pete and Harry were waiting.
“Now they stop,” Matthew said furiously, jumping out when the truck came to a halt.
“Matthew!” she called, but to no avail. He was already confronting Pete and Harry, who were standing at the back of the trailer.
“What the hell is the matter with you two?” Matthew yelled. “Ever since I’ve met you, you’ve been down my throat about protecting C.J.—and then you drive off and leave her to fend for herself. My God, the shooter was lying in wait for her!”
“Calm down.” C.J. touched his arm, but he twisted away in an angry gesture.
“What happened?” Pete asked quietly.
“At the second bend a man hailed me to stop, and when I wouldn’t, he started shooting,” C.J. explained. “He followed us until we crossed the creek. He decided not to chance the rising water.”
“He wasn’t there when we came through,” Pete said.
“Where’d he come from? There’s only one other way into that bottom, and you have to be from Coberville to know about it. I never dreamed you’d be in any danger.”
“She was, dammit,” Matthew shouted, pointing a finger at Pete, “and you’re supposed to be protecting her!”
“Are you all right?” Pete moved close to C.J, his skin visibly pale.
“Sure.” She tried to smile.
“No thanks to the two of you,” Matthew snarled.
“Better calm down, boy,” Harry said in a threatening tone.
“Or what, Harry?” Matthew challenged him, close to his face. “You going to pull a gun on me again, or slit my throat? Well, come on, I’m in a mood to take you on.”
As the two men confronted each other, C.J. stepped between them. “Stop it, do you hear me?”
When neither man acknowledged her plea, C.J. sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “Fine, go ahead and kill each other. I’m taking these calves to the auction.”
As C.J. headed for her truck, Pete said, “We all want the same thing—to keep C.J. safe. So let’s stop fighting.”
Cars zoomed by. Calves bellowed and shifted in the trailers, but Matthew’s dark eyes never wavered from Harry’s brooding ones.
“Brother,” Pete coaxed, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Something flickered deep in Harry’s eyes, something Matthew thought he’d never see—a look of respect. In an abrupt movement Harry stuck out his callused hand.
That was it. All the anger in Matthew dissipated. He drew in a deep breath and shook Harry’s hand.
It was about more than just anger, though. It was about acceptance. Pete and Harry had finally acknowledged Matthew as a part of C.J.’s life.
Matthew climbed into the truck with C.J., but she didn’t say anything and he knew she was annoyed.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I had to let off some steam,” he apologized.
She turned to look at him. “Feeling better, are you?”
“I’d feel a lot better if you’d smile at me.”
A smile broke out on her face. “Let’s get these calves to the auction before you hurt yourself.”
Soon they were at the auction barn. Matthew called the sheriff, and after that, things started to happen fast. The sheriff had a deputy ready to escort Pete, Harry and C.J. back to the ranch. As usual C.J. had a different point of view. She didn’t want to go.
Matthew held both her hands. “Please don’t fight me on this,” he said, gazing into her stubborn eyes. “The sheriff says Detective Beal is at my office. He may have some information that’ll help us find this man. I want you safe until we can put it all together.”
“I want to hear what Beal has to say, too,” she said with a touch of anger. “I should have some say in all of this. It’s my life!”
“C.J.—”
“I’m really not safe anywhere,” she told him.
“But you’re safer at the ranch with someone guarding you.”
“He’s right, girl,” Pete said, and Matthew sighed gratefully.
C.J. looked at Pete. In all the years he’d raised her, he’d never told her what to do. He’d always let her make her own decisions.
“Let’s go, girl, so these men can do their job,” Pete added at her startled look.
“Okay,” she finally agreed, knowing it wasn’t the time to make a scene. Everyone was worried about her. She turned back to Matthew. “You’ll call me as soon as you find out anything?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised, cupping her face and kissing her right there in front of everyone. He didn’t care who saw.
She walked to her truck and he watched as she pulled away, the deputy following. That sad look in her eyes tore at his heart, but at least s
he’d be safe this way.
She had to be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE SHERIFF GAVE Matthew a ride back to the law office and went inside with him. Beal was pacing the outer office, looking impatient.
They shook hands, and Beal, obviously noting Matthew’s disheveled muddy appearance, asked, “Something wrong?”
“Yes.” Matthew opened the door to the inner office, and the three of them entered. Matthew moved to his chair and sat. “That man tried to kill C.J. again.”
Beal opened his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. From it he extracted a photograph and laid it in front of Matthew. “Is that the guy?”
Matthew studied the mug shot. The man had a hawk-nose, round face and narrow eyes. He was partially bald. “That’s him,” he said. “How did you identify him?”
“An old lady saw him get out of the truck that hit C.J. in Austin,” Beal answered. “She was waiting for her daughter to pick her up, so she was watching the street. It took so long to locate her because she stayed with her daughter for a while and didn’t come back until this week. We left messages at all the houses where we couldn’t reach anyone. When she got home, she called us. She remembered the man well and picked him out of some mug shots.”
“You haven’t found him, have you?”
“No, but his trail leads to Coberville.”
“I know that much,” Matthew said angrily.
“Calm down, Matthew. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know.” Matthew shook his head. “It’s just so frustrating.”
“I’ve got more information. Just bear with me.”
“What have you got?”
“His name is Dale Weeks. An ex-con. A security guard identified Weeks as the man who shot him. The guard works for a big law firm in Austin—Dylan, Kent and Reed. Stephen Reed was killed several weeks ago and the guard was critically wounded. It was touch-and-go for a while, but he finally pulled through and was able to look at some mug shots. We haven’t yet figured out a motive for the shootings. The firm didn’t keep large sums of money. It’s still a puzzle, but Weeks is wanted for that murder.”
Reed? That was it. The will. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. Matthew immediately told Beal about his father’s notes.